Draw Me In
by Prolific Novice
Summary: She hates crowds, he causes them. He's looking for the one, while she's just looking for the nearest exit. "You humble me." "Yeah, well. Alice and Rose don't care about you, either. Go be humbled by them." Set in England, awkward hilarity and (eventual) fluff.
1. Chapter 1: Once More

**Draw Me In**

**–|*|–**

**One **– Once More Unto the Breach**  
**

****.  
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**** *~ Is this the place to be? ~*  
****

*****~ What am I doing here? ~*  
****

****.****

****.****

The line in front of me is filled with people – women, in particular – dressed to the nines and chattering away in excitement. They make bold gestures with their hands, and some even belt out a few lyrics, which are completely lost on me.

_Oh, god._

"Oh, god," I mimic my thought process, palming my warm forehead. "_How_ did I let you talk me into this again?"

Alice preens next to me. "You wanted those first editions _really_ bad, so you begged me to get them for you, and I said on one condition, and this was it." She snaps her compact shut. "Voila!"

I groan. "I was being rhetorical." Then – "I didn't _beg_ you."

Rosalie snorts next to me, so I turn my glare on her. "You weren't even _there_!"

She rolls her bright blue eyes towards me, which are only heightened by the line of black surrounding them and the dark blue on her eyelids. "Books and Bella," she deadpans. "When is there _not_ begging involved?"

I cross my arms and mutter.

"Cheer up!" Alice pipes up, bouncing next to me like she's on a bloody space hopper. "You might even enjoy yourself."

I kick the pavement. "Not likely," I mumble. "You know I hate crowds." That was putting it lightly. I had managed to avoid going to gigs and festivals throughout my university years and had a relative quiet – some might say boring – three years. But I had liked it. It suited me more than noise and people ever would.

Rosalie nudges me. "Stop being so mardy, Bella. It's a _concert_. It's not like we're sending you out to Snobs, pissed and dressed in a skirt and heels to fend for yourself." A slow grin comes over as she regards me. "Though I would probably pay good money to see that." I ignore her and turn to Alice.

"You're not even _here_ to see the main guy. You only like the bloody guitarist, for pete's sake!" I'm aware that my voice has raised a notch or two, and that it's bordering on hysterical, but I can't help it.

She raises her eyebrows. "You're not thinking of backing out, are you? 'Cause I can easily call Ian – "

"No, no," I quickly interrupt. "It's just," I start, and then stop. "Do you even _like_ the band?"

Her indifferent shrug has me groaning again.

"Oh, look," Rose says quickly, tugging on my elbow. "They're letting people in."

My wide eyes follow her gaze until I see that yes; they are in fact, letting people in.

"Great."

Rose rolls her eyes at my sarcastic tone before pulling me forward, with Alice hot on my heels.

"Do I really have to do this?" I ask pitifully, eyeing the large doors of doom.

"Yes," they both repeat firmly.

"It'll be good for you," Alice encourages.

"You never go out," Rose chimes in.

"That's because there are _people_ outside."

"This 'I-hate-everyone' attitude you've been rocking _since I've known you_ is really starting to grate on my nerves."

"I don't _hate_ everyone," I interrupt.

Rose just says – "We're going to enjoy ourselves, dammit. _You_ included."

"I would be perfectly content at home right now, and my blood pressure would be much lower."

"Pfft. Low blood pressure is for wimps."

"Yeah," Alice cheers next to me. "Live a little."

Then we're swallowed by the doors, and my anxiety sky rockets.

**–|*|–**

As soon as we enter, we're surrounded on all sides by bodies. My hand automatically creeps up into my hair and starts tugging on the strands as my eyes wheel this way and that.

"Bella." Rose is suddenly before me, her hands on my shoulders. I think Alice is giving our tickets in somewhere but I don't really know. "Just breathe, okay?" I hadn't noticed how hard it was until she mentioned it, but now I feel the strain as each breath is forced too quickly in and out of my lungs. "Look and me and copy what I do, alright?"

I nod frantically, watching as she takes slow, deep breaths and trying to match mine to hers.

"Close your eyes, but keep breathing – slow and easy, that's it."

I do.

As soon as the dark emptiness greets me, I feel myself relax a little. I do as Rose said and keep my breaths slow. When I feel alright again, I open my eyes.

"Okay?"

I nod and swallow. "I guess." Letting out a deep breath, I say, "Thanks Rose."

She squeezes my shoulders. "It'll be fine, Bella. Alice and I will be right next to you, and we're seated at the front, anyway, so it'll seem like there's less people."

"Yeah," I breathe. "I'm sorry for overreacting."

Alice ducks under Rose's arm then and wraps me up in a tight hug. Surprised, I laugh softly, pressing my cheek onto her stylish – albeit pointy – hair. "Thanks, Alice."

"We can go home if you want to," she says, voice small. "I'm sorry for teasing you earlier."

I give her a quick squeeze before pulling back. "I hope you're not backing out on me, Brandon."

Her responding smile is blinding.

**–|*|–**

"How are you holding up, Bella?" Rose asks as we navigate our way through body after body.

"I am _aggressively_ uncomfortable right now," I say, trying to inflict some humour into my tone. I hope it works. "But as long as I keep breathing, I'll live."

When we arrive at our seats – which are admittedly, very near to the front – I find myself relaxing a little, though my eyes still attempt to seek out the nearest exits.

_One to the left of the stage, one to the right_. I glance behind me for split second only for my eyes to widen in horror at the amount of people behind us.

In an attempt to distract myself, I say to Alice – "You must have paid a pretty penny for these seats."

She shrugs. "Not really." At my curious look, she expounds, "I know a guy."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you do."

"Hey!" she complains, and then says in a really bad gangster inflected American accent, "Hate the game, not the playa!"

I stare at her for a second. "Please don't ever do that again."

"I concur," Rose groans from beside me.

Just then, the lights darken until they cut out altogether, leaving us in pitch black apart from the stage, which is illuminated in a hushed light.

My eyes widen. "What's wrong? Did the power go? Are we going to leave now?"

I'm shushed, but not by Alice and Rose, and I sink into my seat, feeling hot.

"They just do this to create atmosphere," Alice whisper-explains into my ear. "It means they're about to come on!" She's so excited she's practically vibrating.

It seems to be catching, as suddenly a vague humming stirs over the crowd, like bees around a hive or something equally as weird. In response, I sink a little lower, because it just makes me feel queasy.

_I wonder how long concerts are supposed to last._

I squint as a dark backdrop on the stage is slowly lifted. Blue light streams from the foot of the stage, vaguely illuminating the silhouettes of three people. The hum grows into an uproar when the first notes of music vibrate the air; a guitar is picked, closely followed by the light sounds of a drum stick hitting a cymbal.

My eyes widen as the slow, sultry voice begins.

**–|*|–**

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**A/N: **

**(Just in case)**

**mardy = moody**

**Snobs = a night club in Birmingham, England  
**

**for pete's sake = for christ's/god's sake**

**Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading. :)**


	2. Chapter 2: The Lonely sound

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Two – The Lonely Sound of Your Voice  
**

**.**

***~ Cause to stand up, out in the crowd**

**You are one in a million ~***

**.**

**.**

_My eyes widen as the slow, sultry voice begins._

Having never heard live music before, I didn't really know what to expect. I had been too busy panicking over the mass of people to give much thought to anything else, to be honest.

But now, listening to the voice so close and so raw and real and _right there_, well . . . it almost makes me wish that I hadn't wussed out on going to all those gigs before.

_Almost._

There's a pause . . . and then the lights flash on just as the voice increases in volume and tempo . . . and just about everything, really.

I seem to be the only one blinded by said lights, because the swell of noise that rushes over me like a wave from behind almost tips me out of my chair . . . alerting me to the fact that everyone has either just had a really amazing outer body experience, or that they've seen something they _really_ like.

Maybe both.

When my vision clears, I can sort of understand the hubbub.

I say _sort of_ because it still seems weird to me to scream over seeing anybody . . . ever.

I only glance at the stage before peeking to my right at Alice just in time to see her mouth fall open. I grin before side eying Rose, to see her equally enraptured, though to her credit, her mouth does remain closed.

I snigger, but it's cut short when everyone suddenly stands up, my friends included.

I glance around in horror, feeling suddenly squashed on all sides.

_This is like a Mexican wave gone wrong._

"C'mon!" Alice scream-yells at me (because it's really quite loud in here), tugging me up by my elbow. I concede only because I feel like if I remain sitting, I might get trampled on by the people behind me.

_Why are there even chairs in here if no one's going to stay in them?_

I cross my arms over my chest. They had provided some modicum of comfort and now it's all _bodies bodies bodies _again.

For another distraction (I suppose that's it's not really appropriate to call the main performance a _distraction) _I let my gaze drift back on over to the stage just in time to see the singer arch his back as he belts out into the microphone, his voice raw and rich and rough.

I try not to. I really do.

But I gape.

I feel my ears vibrate with the sudden influx of sound, as if by looking I've only just suddenly tuned myself into what's happening right in front of me. But I quickly dart my gaze away from him, as if I've been caught with my hand in the biscuit tin. I don't like the sudden swell of blood in my cheeks or the quick thumping of my heart, because it makes me feel . . . _out of control._

I rush my gaze over to the guitarist and drummer for the next few songs, watching the way their hands move. I find myself almost mesmerised by the way the guitarist – I'm _sure_ Alice told me what his name was: John? Jace? Jack? Something with a J, anyway – moves his fingers so dexterously up and down the strings. And the drummer moves his hands so quickly but so rhythmically – really don't know his name, though I'm pretty sure that's who Rose is here for (given the direction of her gaze).

Watching them and allowing myself to be drawn along with the sometimes soft, sometimes husky, but always beautiful sound, affects me in a most peculiar but thankful way.

I forget about the crowds because I stop thinking. My mind empties – just like that – and in the hazy mist of us in the audience below, it seems like they're the only people shining bright enough to see.

So when the main guy picks up a guitar, of course I have to look.

My eyes fall down to his hands as he starts picking out a slow melody. The stage darkens dramatically again, fading out the other two members until the spotlight is almost focused solely on him.

I watch his fingers in fascination as they move and flex in ways I couldn't dream of making mine do. They're so long that he makes difficult chords look like child's play, and when he starts strumming, it's smooth and flawless and tricky but he makes it look _so bloody easy._

When his voice joins in he sounds sombre, and he sings of something like loss but which isn't really as it warps and changes _so expertly_ into something bitter, and then sweet. Without all the other instrumental – just him and his guitar – he sounds closer, like he's invading my personal space bubble (which is usually the size of a room) and pressing against my skin.

I swallow thickly, and I decide to risk a nervous glance at his face.

I can't really see much because his head his tipped down. Still, that does nothing to alleviate my quick heart as my eyes drip drip drip down his dark hair, down his sticky white t-shirt and dark jeans, and then trickles up up up until I can see how the shadows play out across the skin I can see.

I can't look away. But he looks up before I can try to, anyway.

I try not to. I really do.

But I gape. _Again_.

He is undoubtedly the _prettiest_ boy I've ever seen. Although, by the stubble dusting his very angular jawline, it's probably a mistake to call him a _boy_. And I don't reckon he'd be too appreciative of me referring to him as _pretty_, either.

But really.

Just . . . _really_.

I swallow thickly. Again.

But have the good sense to close my mouth.

–**|*|–**

That lonely, sad-but-something-else-too song turns out to be the only one of its kind. The music picks up after that, the guitarist and drummer reappearing, and I find myself feeling an oxymoronic mixture of relieved and disappointed.

I go back to staring at hands.

But at one point, when the singer stops to address the crowd, I find myself unprepared.

I did not anticipate _speaking_.

In a moment of confusion (and disorientation, frankly, at the sudden demise of music and the sudden restoration of the noise behind me), I glance up.

He says things.

Possibly quite a few things.

But I don't hear them.

Because I think he's looking at me.

–**|*|–**

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**A/N:**

**Just so everyone's clear, this story will be set entirely in England. At the end of every chapter, if there are any words I think may be difficult for someone not from here to interpret, I'll chuck 'em down here with a translation. :)  
**

**See you soon!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Quiet One

**Draw Me In **

**Three – The Quiet One**

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

***~ Well, who are you?  
I really wanna know  
Tell me, who are you?  
'Cause I really wanna know ~***

**.**

Curiously, I don't look away instantly.

Despite what Alice and Rose may think, I really don't _hate_ people. I don't even dislike them. I've just never been quite comfortable _being_ one of them. Especially _especially_ not when surrounded by so many of them. Some people think large crowds provide anonymity; a way to get lost, be invisible. But to me, they were just layers and layers of heat, wrapping around me until my heart felt like it might melt out of my chest, my lungs shrivel up from so little air.

So basically: en masse, bad.

But since I had spent so much time avoiding being in these situations, it meant that I was a little – alright, a _lot_ – inept in the people-and-how-to-interact-with-them department.

Which brings me to the crux of my confounding moment now as, eye contact?

This is indeed in that department (see above).

I want to be high-fived by everyone around me in a way that's similar to the _peace be with you_ handshake I remember doing when I had to attend church because my primary school was catholic; to be toasted to with a _cheers_ from so many people as they clink their pint against mine down the local pub because I am _managing to maintain eye contact_ with someone I don't know really, really well.

But my parade is sort of rained upon by the fact that it is actually impossible to tell if he's _really_ looking at me.

Despite our near-to-the-front seats, there are still a fair few people swimming to the front and sides of me, and a complete tsunami behind me. This, coupled with the fact that the spotlight he's under looks r_eeee_ally uncomfortable and utterly all consuming (vision wise), has me having serious doubts.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, my gaze drops.

I call myself many daft names – some meaner than others – in my head as I attempt to get my red face under control. I feel suddenly ashamed, silly, and so very uncomfortable again.

_Please capillaries, calm down and I promise I will never ever _ever_ let myself be coerced into coming to any gig, festival, concert, or just generally anything where there are lots of people ever again._

Looking down at my shoes, I find myself _really_ wishing I could sit down.

The tidal wave behind me is not in favour of this idea.

–**|*|–**

When the concert _finally_ ends and the backdrop drops back down, I ungracefully plonk myself into the chair behind me.

Beside me, Alice and Rose slowly come back down to earth again.

"Wow," Alice breathes, falling onto the seat beside me like she's boneless. "That was…"

"Blinding," Rosalie finishes for her, looking somewhat more composed than my other, more spiked friend, though no less starry eyed or flushed.

I'm not surprised. They were jumping around like a couple of nutters.

Alice turns to me, a sly smile on her face. "What'd you reckon, Bella?"

I'll probably be in for a lot of I _told you so_ and the like if I tell her I actually sort of enjoyed it, so I just shrug and say, "So so."

"So so?" She looks offended. I feel a little bad. "_So so_?!"

"It was alright." I pat her shoulder, trying to wipe away the wounded look on her face.

She stares at me.

And stares.

And stares.

And –

"Can you _stop_ that?"

Flopping back onto her chair, she mouths "_So so_" at the ceiling.

I look at Rose in worry. "I think I broke her."

She snorts. "I don't actually think that's possible. She's just all in a tizz over that lanky bloke with the guitar." She glances over my shoulder at Alice. "Away with the fairies, that one."

I raise an eyebrow. "What about _your_ drummer bloke with the sticks?"

She raises one right back and deflects in an oh-so Rosalie manner. "What about _yours _with the piss poor hair and microphone?"

I gape. I'm pretty sure my gaze had only lingered on him for about ten seconds. No, even _less_.

For a wordless minute, I say nothing.

And then in my very own style of deflection, I shoot up and say – "Time to go!"

–**|*|–**

We're almost _almost_ to the exit when we're intercepted.

After Rosalie – thankfully – let the subject drop (probably realising I'd just about reached my limit for the day) we had started to filter out. Also thankfully, it wasn't as awful as I'd been dreadfully anticipating, as a good portion of the audience had found their way to the front and sides of the stage, rather than the exit.

Meanwhile, we managed to make a sort-of smooth getaway up the aisle.

That is, until, someone steps in front of us.

Right in _our path._

To avoid a collision, we halt.

"Excuse me," the man I absolutely don't recognise says. "Would you mind coming with me?"

I'm looking at his shoulder, so I'm not really sure who he's talking to.

But out of instinct and previous experience, I assume it's not me.

I glance at Alice, at Rose, but they're both looking at me. I look back at the man's black shirt covered shoulder.

"Miss?" he ducks a little, catching my gaze. He repeats, "Would you mind coming with me?"

My eyes widen. "Me?" I ask in disbelief, chest-pointing finger and everything.

His lips lift a little. "Yes, you."

I glance at Alice and Rose for help, but they look as surprised as me.

"Uh," I say.

"Mr. Masen would like to talk with you." My initial thought is, _who_? But then my eyes zone in on the small _security_ stitched in white near the top of his shirt, and I recall – and can _still hear_ – what the people swarming the stage were/are screaming . . . so I can make a pretty good guess.

But still.

I absolutely don't know what to do with this information.

"I would mind," I say instead, referring back to his previous question. "I would very much mind, actually."

Now _he's_ the one looking surprised. "He was quite insistent."

"Yeah, well, I am too." My eyes dart to the glowing exit sign which is _so close_. "Insistent on _leaving_."

The nudge I give to Alice in an attempt to shift her knocks her out of her stupor. "Bella!" she whisper-yells, which I think is pretty unnecessary considering A) the guy can clearly hear her and B) the noise has dimmed so much that yelling is obsolete now. "What are you doing? You have to go!"

I give her a weird look. "I will go. Go _home_, that is."

She rolls her eyes. "Stop taking the mick! I think you should _go_ and see him."

"I _just_ saw him," I complain, looking down at my watch. "For about two hours, actually."

Alice lets out a frustrated growl, turning to the man in front of us with a – "two ticks, please" before grabbing me by the arm and hauling me away.

I don't think he minds. He looks sort of amused, actually.

"Bella," she says firmly, seriously. Planting her hands on my shoulders, she says calmly, "Are you mental?"

I roll my eyes, knocking her hands away.

"This is a once in a lifetime chance!"

"Well you go talk to him then!"

"He didn't ask for me, he asked for you!"

That stops me.

"I – "

She cuts me off with a look. "Don't even say it. I don't think I've ever seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him. For that reason _alone_ I think you should go. It's not like he's asking you to marry him or anything, what harm can it do?"

I gape. I _swear_ I had only glanced at him for a split second. "First Rosalie and then – " I break off, suddenly realising that Rose never followed us. "Where _is_ – "

"Okay," Rose interrupts, suddenly appearing at my side. "I sorted it."

I stare at her, feeling dread curl in the pit of my stomach. "What?"

She hands me something, and then Alice. "I said you'd only go if we got to come with you." She shrugs. "He said it was fine."

My mouth drops. "But I – I don't – I never – !"

Alice squeals, Rosalie grins.

I look down. _BACKSTAGE PASS. ADMIT ONE._

More than a little bitter, I spit – "_Sod _you guys."

–**|*|–**

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**A/N:**

****primary school – elementary school  
****

**daft – silly**

**blinding – awesome  
**

**nutter** –** mad/eccentric person**

**tizz **– flustered, a state of nervous excitement****

**bloke – guy**

****away with the fairies – daydreaming, eccentric, not in touch with reality****

**piss poor – bad, of a low standard**

**mental – insane, crazy**

**taking the mick – to tease/taunt someone**

**sod – used to express anger/annoyance at someone/something (often collated with off as in "sod off")**

**And if anyone's interested, the handshake I mentioned was where we had to utter "peace be with you" as we shook hands with _every possible person_ we could reach from our position in the pew. Not surprisingly, I didn't like it. Too much touching.**

**Also, just a quick note - if you're reading "Alone" as well, it will update either tomorrow or the day after. :)_  
_**

**See you soon!  
(P.S. A**nyone particularly good with photoshop and fancy making a banner for this story? Let me know!) **  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Take Comfort in Your Friends

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Four – Take Comfort in Your Friends**

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***~ All this feels strange and untrue ~*  
**

**.**

My stomach takes so many twists and turns as I'm begrudgingly led along by Alice and Rose that it feels like I'm currently an unwilling participant on a very tall, very twisty, very _Final Destination-y_ rollercoaster.

I'm not even being dramatic when I say this, either.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," I say-shout miserably, lagging behind my so called _mates_.

We're currently being led _away_ from the exit by the security bloke and into the fray of the people around the stage. He's a big, no-nonsense sort of geezer, not shy about giving elbows or shoulders to pushy people, so he's well off.

I am not of this disposition.

On the other hand, Alice and Rose take it in their stride; linking arms like they're presenting a bloody united front or something. Rose is not hesitant to tell people where to go, and Alice may be small, but like her hair, she's all sharp edges and points.

Literally. She has the _boniest_ elbows.

Rose looks back at me, somehow managing to look both exasperated and concerned at the same time. I'm being crushed by people _on all sides_ – it's even worse that catching the train to New Street at half eight in the morning, and that's _awful_ – so I can only imagine what my face looks like now.

She reaches back, clasping a hand over my crossed arms and pulling me forward until I'm between her and Alice. "You know, you're plan to get lost in the crowd would only make sense if you actually_ liked_ crowds." She is definitely exasperated, but winds her arm around my shoulder nonetheless.

"You're forcing me to go against my own instincts."

"Well, maybe you should start doing things _despite_ your fears instead of stopping yourself _because_ of them."

My hands clutch at my sides tighter – because _of course_ she makes sense – but I don't respond.

I get knocked from the front a few times and shoved from the back – but my sides remain relatively unscathed because of Alice and Rose – so by the time we're free of the mob, I have to bend down a little to catch my breath.

They turn to look.

Alice asks – "Alright?"

_Ow_, I think. _People_.

"Ow," I say. "People."

"It's just down there," the security guy says, pointing down the long corridor that's oppressively dark from floor to ceiling; the only sense of light coming from a few hazy spotlights above us.

Not surprisingly, it does not inspire any good feeling within me.

"You lot go on ahead," I manage to push out. "I'll be right with you."

Security shakes his head. "Can't do that, I'm afraid. You'll need me and your passes to get through further security down the bottom."

My stomach churns as I stare down the long, dark space. I _really_ don't want to go down there . . . but Alice and Rose are looking at me so expectantly and . . .

And then –

_Light bulb!_

My eyes widen only slightly as I quickly push the pass further into the back pocket of my jeans (where I stuffed it earlier). Straightening up, I pat my front pockets and throw a concerned look on my face, and then I say, "Oh, sugar! I must've dropped my pass in all the fuss outside." I sigh _exaggeratedly_ for extra effect. "Looks like I won't be able to – "

Alice raises a brow, stepping forward, she quickly reaches behind me and dangles said pass between her fingers. "Don't be an arse, Bella."

The urge to gape is strong, but instead I cross my arms and say, "I don't know what you're on about."

Rolling her eyes, she reaches for my hand and starts tugging me along. "I _really_ wish people would top treating me like a ragdoll." I tug my hand back. "I can walk. I'm not a bloody invalid!"

"Then stop bloody acting like one!"

Then I feel it.

_Hurt_.

Silence follows her outburst, and I blink lots of times, trying to blink back tears, though I probably just end up looking like a right twonk. My arms lift, winding around myself tightly like I might be able to stem the stupid ache in my chest.

"Oh, Bella. I'm so sorry."

I stare down at the floor, feeling hollow.

"Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." I hear the wobble in her voice. "I didn't."

Security clears his throat.

Rosalie says – "Can you just wait over there for a minute?"

Footsteps walking, fading.

Silence.

Arms around me, my eyes watering over her shoulder.

"You're alright, hun," Rose says softly, rubbing my back. "You're alright."

I sniffle. "She's right. I can't do anything like a normal person. I can't _be_ normal."

"Shh," she hushes. "Alice doesn't think about what she's saying sometimes, and she's been really bloody nutty about that bloke for a while now." She pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "She didn't mean it. You're her best friend. She loves you."

My lips tremble.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you," she says firmly, her eyes fixed. "Alright? Absolutely nothing."

My watery gaze holds hers for a minute before dropping to the floor.

"We don't have to do this," she says softly. "We can go home if you want to. Stick the telly on. Have a Doctor Who marathon." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Order a stuffed crust from Dominos."

The corner of my lip curls up.

"Alright? Come on then."

The idea is _so bleeding tempting_, but –

"No," I breathe, glancing back up. Her gaze is surprised. "I . . . " I go to say _want_, but can't force the fib out. " . . . can do this." Deep breath. "I _can_ do this."

More like I _need_ to do this: for them, but also for myself. I need to prove that I can at least tolerate something any normal person would be ridiculously enthused about.

She nods slowly, but her brows are furrowed. "If you're sure . . ."

I nod, quickly. _Please don't offer me another way out again, 'cause I might just scarper next time._

She gives my shoulders one last squeeze before falling into step beside me. Alice and Security are waiting a little ways away, unspeaking. Alice is fidgeting.

Her eyes dart up when we approach, and I can see the guilt overflowing from her pretty blue eyes even in the dark.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean it. I – "

"It's okay," I interrupt, smiling weakly. "It's alright. I get it. I understand."

"No," she persists desperately, her eyes widening. "Don't do that. It's not alright. Please don't think – "

"Alice!" I cut her off, a little shrilly, because I can feel myself crumbling a bit. Her mouth snaps shut. "_Please_. I forgive you. You're forgiven. It's not a big deal."

We stare at each other for a minute until Alice's eyes drop to the floor.

Security clears his throat again. "It's this way," he repeats, and starts walking.

All our shoulders have a downward slump as we follow.

–**|*|–**

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**.**

* * *

**A/N: Well… that took a turn I wasn't expecting. O_O**

**(And yes, the chapter title is horribly misleading/ironic. I'm _sorry_).**

**geezer = guy, man**

**New Street = the largest and busiest of the railway stations serving Birmingham, England; in the city centre and a central hub of the British railway system**

**twonk = a stupid/foolish person**

**Dominos = the _best _****place to get pizza**

**scarper = flee, to run away**

**bleeding = alternative for _bloody_**

**Thanks for reading. :) See you soon!**


	5. Chapter 5: If You See Her, Say Hello

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Five – If You See Her, Say Hello  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ I'm stepping up to indicate**

**The time has come to deviate ~***

**.**

In no time at all it seems – though the corridor looks _frighteningly long_ when I peer back down it – we arrive at a door. And unlike our surroundings thus far, it is not black.

It's red.

Security opens said door and ushers us in, gesturing towards one of the three comfy looking sofas. "They'll be right with you," he says, and then nods at us all once before backing out and closing the door.

My first thought is –

_What does he mean _they_?_

Silence coats the air around us for a minute, thick and heavy, before Rose walks further into the room and starts digging around in a very ostentatious mini fridge.

"What are you doing?" I manage to push out.

She peers over her shoulder at me and raises an eyebrow. "Making myself at home." Then, gesturing towards the fridge – "Drink? There's plenty. Apparently these guys have a problem with tap water."

I shake my head quickly. "No, thanks." Truth is, my throat feels like the bloody Sahara, but I'm so nervous right now that I imagine it would end up mostly _on_ me rather than _inside_ of me. "I'm alright."

"Alice?"

"Please."

As those two drift on over to the couch, I remain rooted to my spot, taking a minute to have a look around.

It's dark in here, too, and rather than overhead lights there are lamps, but the kind that linger around the space rather than lighting it up. Aside from the fridge and the couches, there isn't much to see. I spy a guitar lurking up the corner and one haphazardly tossed across a couch, but that's basically it.

But it doesn't feel sparse or cold. The low lighting, imposing sofas and dark – burgundy, black? – walls give it an almost . . . _cosy_ feel? My eyes squint. _No_, I think, _not cosy._

_Kept?_

_Close?_

It sends a tingle down my spine.

"…not like I'm going to _do_ anything. Besides, I think Bella is the main candidate here."

Their conversation trickles across the room and into my ears, and I drag my eyes from the walls to see them already looking at me. Frowning, I ask, "What?" And then – "Candidate for _what_?" Which is daft really, considering I don't want to be a candidate for _anything_.

My eyes flicker between theirs, more than a little uneasy at the smiles on their faces.

Rose says, "The prospect of you getting chatted up is very likely."

Almost immediately, I feel the heat rush to my face. "_No_," I say, voice high. "That's – that's _not_ going to happen." Even just the idea of it has my hand creeping into my hair and pulling nervously at the strands.

"I was just messing," Rose says soothingly as she pats the spot between her and Alice, and I only hesitate for a moment before going and sitting in between them. "But it's not _so_ out of the question."

I draw my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down hard. That _cannot_ be why I'm here. Granted, I'm not actually sure of the reason, but it's not so. . .

My eyes go wide and a gasp leaves my lips as realisation sinks in.

"You don't think . . . what if he thinks I'm sort of _groupie_ or something?" I look at Rose in horror. "What if he wants me to – "

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, speedy." Rose has her palms raised in a pacifying gesture, her eyes wide. "I didn't mean it like that."

"She was only joshing, Bella," Alice reassures, the first words she's spoken to me since we walked into the room. I turn to look at her and find her eyes are hesitant, her words quiet. This persona is so different to her usual chirpy one, and it makes me more than a little sad. "Plus, I'm pretty sure groupies would be the ones doing the seeking . . . and, well . . . he sought _you_ out."

I look at her, my eyes round and worried. "I'm not sure if that's any better."

She slips her hand into mine and squeezes.

Rose says – "Just breathe, Bella."

And I can sort of understand why Alice called me an invalid.

Gathering some resolve from _god knows where_, I wedge it underneath me – unyielding as brick – and take a deep breath.

"It's going to be fine. It's _really_ going to be fine. It's going to be so _absolutely_ fine that I'll have a new meaning for the word _fine_ when we get home." Inhale. Exhale. "Right?"

"Of course," Rose agrees.

"Absolutely fine," Alice concurs.

I glance at them, my mind still plucking out a nervous tune. There are a thousand butterflies swirling around in my stomach and I really _hate_ the feeling, but I keep thinking _resolve resolve resolve_, and then – _distraction_.

I turn to Alice.

"Got anymore mates with first editions just lying around?"

Beside me, Rose groans.

–**|*|–**

We are mid-way through a discussion/argument about whether one of Alice's sources is really as genuine as they claim to be. I still suspect the legitimacy of a first edition _Wuthering Heights_ bought from him, Alice thinks that my suspicions spread from personal bias – clearly, I am not fond of him – when the door opens.

Almost as if we were connected in a crazy, highly spiritual way, Alice, Rose and I all freeze at _exactly_ the same moment.

And very slowly, our eyes turn to the doorway.

Two people of obviously male stature stand in the place which is not quite in, but not quite out, either. Silence permeates the room for a minute, and there is a lot of staring going on.

That is, until –

"Hello girls," the bloke – the _drummer_ – greets as he strolls into the room, oozing nonchalance and ease. He's grinning from ear to ear as he stops in front of us.

"I'm Emmett," he introduces, sticking out his hand and shaking ours one by one. The gesture would make me smile, if_ I_ weren't the one being subjected to it.

"Alice," _Alice_ says, smiling, when he reaches out to take her tiny hand.

He grins. "How'd you do, T_inker_."

Her smile brightens.

_Tinkerbelle_. Well, he wasn't far off.

Next: me.

I try to shake his hand as thoroughly as he shakes mine, but just end up jerking weirdly instead and pitching into Rose's shoulder.

He laughs, loudly.

I glow like a radioactive tomato.

"Good to meet you, _Bambi_," he says, still chuckling.

I just squeak and drop his hand.

Bambi?

_Bambi?!_

When he moves onto Rose, I _swear_ he does a double take. Silence takes centre stage again as they stare at each other. And maybe I'd be interested in Rose's reaction if the weird atmosphere they were creating _wasn't_ making my face warm.

Emmett clears his throat, his hand just holding, not shaking, her own. His voice is deeper when he says, "It's a pleasure – "

"Rosalie," _Rosalie_ cuts him off, her eyes _just_ narrowing, but not in the same irritated way as when our neighbours are giving her aggro. This look seems only . . . surface inclined. "Just Rosalie."

He nods slowly, looking a little dazed. "Pleasure," he says quietly, before clearing his throat and backing away. He slinks down onto the sofa opposite us, jerking a thumb towards the figure still standing in the doorway. "That smarmy git over there is Jasper."

The "smarmy git" in question rolls his eyes as he walks towards us, stopping behind the sofa to shove his band mate. "Excuse him. He doesn't understand the concept of _manners_ unless his mother's in the room." Then he nods to each of us, uttering a quiet _hello_ with a slight smile.

I side eye Alice, and her wide eyes are not discreet.

Neither is her sudden _gulp_.

And then everyone is back to staring.

–**|*|–**

.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: I promise promise **_**promise**_** Edward will ****make his entrance next chapter.*rubs hands together* Are you ready for him? ;)  
**

**chatted up = an act of talking flirtatiously to someone**

**joshing = joking, to tease someone in a playful way**

****aggro = problems and difficulties****

**smarmy = obsequious, condescendingly flattering**

**git = an unpleasant person**

**Thank you for reading. :) See you soon!**


	6. Chapter 6: You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Six – **You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello****

**.**

**.**

***~ Sweet precision and soft collision  
Hearts about to palpitate  
And I find it hard to separate ~*  
**

**.**

"Pay up."

"What? No."

"You landed on me. Those are _the rules_."

"I also rolled a _six_, which means my turn isn't up yet."

Yeah.

"That is complete and utter _bollocks_."

We're playing _Monopoly_.

Apparently, Emmett's favourite way to unwind after a show is to play possibly the longest, most exasperating board game ever.

I don't know why though, because –

"Jasper? _Tell_ her."

"I don't know, man. I think she's right."

"_What_?"

– he seems to be getting more _wound_ up by the second.

"Are you telling me I've been playing this game wrong _my whole life_?"

Rose cocks an eyebrow from her position opposite him. Because there are no tables in here, we're sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor, the board settled between us. "I think you've been _cheating_ your whole life."

Emmett smirks. "Funny that you're the first one to _ever_ call me out on it then."

My eyes dart between them as I listen to their banter. Rose may seem so cool and unaffected on the surface . . . but her eyes betray her; they smile even when her lips don't.

When I glance over to Alice who is sitting, not oh-so coincidentally, opposite Jasper, I have to push back a laugh; just as one looks away, the other will look back. And it goes on and on like this, as if they're playing a blind game of tennis.

Peering down at my hands, I allow myself a smile. _This isn't so bad_ – it feels alright actually, to the point I find myself relaxing. And I'm glad I never backed out, because it looks like Alice got her guitarist, and Rose, her drummer.

Me? I'm sitting opposite the box, as I'm the banker. Obviously.

I yawn as I glance back up, covering my mouth with my hand and taking a look at my watch. My eyes widen a little as I see the time, and I'm suddenly very glad it's a Saturday tomorrow.

Standing slowly, I stretch out my stiff muscles, rolling my shoulders from side to side a little. I open my mouth to say _be right back_ or something, but close it again when I notice the staring again, but this time _talking_, too.

Quietly, I tread along the soft carpet until I'm at the door. I take one last silent glance at the foursome before stepping outside. Leaning my back against the red, I let out a sigh as the silence greets me.

_Hello, old friend._

Despite the easy atmosphere that had arisen, the back of my neck still prickled anxiously whenever I'd risk a wayward glance at _this door._ I had gathered that the two in there weren't the one's that had asked for me . . . so it must have been . . . the _singer_.

But five minutes had turned into ten, and ten, twenty. And I'd started to relax, thinking that maybe he really had made a mistake and had no desire to meet me what so-bloody-ever.

The thought was pleasing.

And now the security bloke seems to have vanished, I can probably sneak away and leave Rose and Alice to it (I won't be _abandoning_ them here or anything – we took Alice's car), ring a taxi and be in bed by twelve.

Abruptly pleased with myself for all that I've managed today, I snap my eyes open – didn't even know I'd closed them – and step away from the door. On the way down the very long, very dark corridor, I pull out my mobile from my jean pocket and type out a text to Alice and Rose, telling them: _really tired – gone home in taxi. Don't worry about me tonight – have fun!_ _– x_

Because I'm too busy grinning at a glowing screen to look where I'm going, I run into a wall or door or something.

_Of course I do._

I pick my head up and think –

_You're not a door._

_You're a _you_._

"Sorry," I utter quickly, quietly, my gaze darting back down to my shoes. It's too dark to see, but I'm guessing it's one of the security people again. I step to the side in an attempt to pass, but so does he.

And again.

And again.

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I mutter, "Excuse me" and attempt to round him again, but he steps into my path before I can, his hand reaching out to grasp my upper arm.

Surprised, I jerk back a little, my head lifting. My mobile slips from my fingers as I say-gasp – "What are you – "

"Forgive me," the very _not_-security-guard voice says, his hand trailing down my arm as he reaches for my fallen mobile, his hair crazy and long and brushing against my hoodie as he leans down.

Dumfounded, I watch as the strangers body slinks down near my feet before rising again, oh-so slowly.

It should not be a surprise to see that his not-security voice matches a not-security face.

But it is.

It really, _really_ is.

_Oh_. My mouth forms the word but doesn't say it.

Smiling softly in the hushed lights flickering only dimly overhead, _Mr. Masen _presses my phone into my hand. "Hello," he greets gently, like he's speaking to a baby fawn or something. "Leaving already?"

My brain process goes something like this:

_Uh._

_Um._

_Umm?_

And then –

_Oh no._

_Oh no oh no oh no._

Wide eyed and already red, I take a step back. His fingers slide like water from my skin and I clutch my phone to my chest like it's a life preserver. "I was – I was just – because – " I stammer, not really saying anything.

The relief and feeling of accomplishment that had been sailing through my bloodstream only _moments_ ago abruptly bubbles up before flittering away into tiny wisps of smoke, like it was never there in the first place. I have stopped preparing for this when it had stopped being a possibility, but now . . .

"Are you leaving?" he asks, trying to catch my eyes because I'm trying _not_ to look into his. "I never got a chance to talk to you." He takes a step forward, closing the gap again.

_Step back. Eyes on my shoes._ My mind throws away the last bit of his words and focuses only on his question.

"Yeah," I say, so quietly, my gaze so intent on the carpet.

Silence, and then – "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

_A nod at the floor_. Truth be told, I'm thinking how if I'd only escaped a _little_ earlier I could have managed to avoid this. I'm _not not not_ thinking about seeing him on the stage earlier, with his head thrown back or his sombre voice.

He takes a step forward. I take one back.

"Would you consider staying for a little while?" he asks, voice low and soft and so different sounding to his singing voice but still really, really nice. "I can take you home after, if you'd like."

My heart thrums in my chest, and I can feel the strange heat rising to the back of my neck. _This is so unprecedented_, I think, _and I'm so uncomfortable_.

"No," I squeak out, to everything, to nothing. "It's alright."

_Step forward, step back_. And here I was earlier thinking that this crazy long corridor was a _bad_ thing.

I guess that shows me.

Low, low voice – "I can't tempt you?"

I don't mean for my swallow to come out as a gulp, but it does anyway.

"Uh," I say shakily, my gaze burning bleeding _craters_ into the carpet. My heart is racing so fast, I'm almost certain he can hear it. "I – "

"Bella!"

I almost feel like weeping in relief as Rose comes storming down the corridor. I spin around sharpish to see she has a half-frown on her face as she nears me, before it morphs into one of surprise as she glances behind me and up up up.

Her eyes widen. "Oh," she says.

"Hi," the singer greets, and I freeze like I've just had ice chucked on me because he sounds _close_. "You must be one of the friends."

Her brows rise. "That I am," she replies, her gaze darting to mine briefly. "Rosalie. And you're Mr. – "

"Just Edward, please," _Edward_ interrupts, and I can hear the smudge of a smile in his voice.

She hums. "Well, I was just making sure Bella hadn't scarpered yet. We didn't want her to leave without us. So . . . " Her eyes flicker between Edward and I before settling on me. "You coming?" She gestures behind her, back towards the room with the red door.

My shoulders slump, but it's in part-way relief. "Yeah," I say quietly, following Rose closely as she departs back down the corridor.

And even though I'm watching my feet, I _still_ stumble on thin air.

A hand on my arm in no time at all, because he wasn't far away. "You alright?"

I nod slowly, cheeks red, and pretend I don't feel his hand slip-sliding down my arm again, or the way his thumb drags across my ticklish palm.

I don't glance up.

But I can feel his gaze on me.

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: *scarpers*  
**

**bollocks = nonsense, rubbish**

**ring = call**

**mobile = phone**

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7: The Seeker

**Draw Me In**

**–|*|–**

**Seven – The Seeker  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ And so I thought I'd let you know  
That these things take forever  
I especially am slow ~*  
**

**.**

_I don't glance up._

_But I can feel his gaze on me._

_._

As soon as I step into the room, I feel surrounded on all sides by heat. He's behind me, burning my back, and the room itself is so _kept_ and _close_ that it feels like he is, too.

Swallowing around a tennis sized lump in my throat, my feet tumble in their haste to get to one of the sofas, where Alice is sitting.

"Hey," she says when I plonk down beside her. She pokes me in the side. "You disappeared."

I squirm away from her intrusive hand, glancing up briefly and giving her a weak smile. "Not for long."

"Alright?" I hear Emmett greet, but don't see the man-hug he might or might not give, our new guest because I'm too busy looking at my hands. "Pizza?"

The _singer_ (I seem to have a problem referring to him as his given name – even in my head – I think I'll probably mull it over later) lets out a chuckle, sounding so melodic and musical in a way I imagine only someone with a _really_ pretty voice can sound. "All the meats, extra cheese."

"Ace!" Emmett yelps, yes, _yelps_, then abruptly clears his throat, making a purposeful effort to deepen his tone. "Sound, man."

"No problem," _Mr. Masen_ replies. I think he's smiling. Not that I would actually know considering my hands really _are_ the most fascinating thing in the world right now. "I bought extra, considering we have guests."

Alice nudges me, not really all that discreetly, and my cheeks flush.

_Bloody Nora!_ _Why_ am I going red over that? _Why_?

"Well then, let me introduce you to the gang," Emmett says jovially. I am _not_ feeling so jovial. "This is Rosalie, _just_ Rosalie, mind you." There's a pause, a brief _hello_ (which is kind of redundant really, considering they just met in the corridor), and just enough time for Rose to do something sarcy before he moves on. "That little bit over there is Tinker." Alice's voice twinkles with her smiling _hi_, but I can't really concentrate on that or hear his response because I am obviously coming next in this horrible turn of events.

_Why Emmett?_ I think. _Why._

"And that one's Bambi," Emmett finishes proudly.

For a minute, I really regret the existence of _manners_ and having them instilled in me.

Because now I have to look up.

_Here it comes_, I think dreadfully, my heart pounding and my palms sweating. _Eye contact. _

I lift my head slowly, but I treat my gaze like a plaster; as soon as it's there, I rip it away. "Hi," I mumble, looking just to the right of him. He's closer than I thought, having moved from the door to stand behind the sofa, and I have to hide the spasmodic jerk that accompanies my fleeting eyes.

"Hello," he replies softly.

Emmett takes over after that, dishing out boxes of domino's that do actually smell _really_ bloody good. I take what's offered to me gratefully, so relieved just to have a reason to look down again.

–**|*|–**

I had never before _in my entire life_ found it difficult to eat pizza, but tonight proves to be the exception, which shouldn't really be surprising if you think about how bizarre this evening has been in general. And not something I want to repeat, much like uneaten pizza.

He rounds the sofa _just_ as I'm about to take a second bite out of my first slice, and I immediately freeze.

It's not like he sits there staring at me like a creeper the entire time I'm trying to eat. It's just that his presence alone is enough to unnerve me. Because even though he's chatting to Jasper, he's sitting opposite me, and even though his gaze remains fixedly on _who_ he's talking to, sometimes I can feel it stray to me.

_Why am I here?_ I think, over and over until my head grows sore.

Then I think:_ I want the Monopoly box back. _

–**|*|–**

After forcing a couple of slices down, I find that I just really don't have the energy to eat anymore, so I duck down and deposit the box of my feet, and then curl up on the couch.

A gentle nudge to my side. "Are you okay?" Alice asks quietly.

I smile at her, but it's thin and tired. "I'm fine."

She looks at me, drawing her lip into her mouth. "You wanna go?"

I squint at her. "You wanna stay."

She smiles ruefully at me, peering down at her mobile and tapping the screen so it lights up. "It's late. We can go now, if you want to."

I repeat through a yawn – "But you wanna stay." And then I peer over at Rosalie who's talking to Emmett, both of them looking too animated and cheery for this time of night – er, morning. "And I think Rose or "just Rosalie" wants to, as well."

"But you're tired."

I let my head drop onto her shoulder, glad the exhaustion is outweighing my nerves, for once. "I'll call a taxi." My eyes fall closed as I mumble it.

And then, well, I guess I fall asleep.

–**|*|–**

Soft voices.

"_She's spark out."_

Hushed goodbyes.

"_We should be heading off now, anyway."_

Close.

"_Here_."

Too close.

"_Let me take her_."

In my sleepy state, I vaguely register being lifted from the very comfortable couch. In the next moment I'm kept by something warm and solid . . . yet sort of gentle at the same time. I squirm a bit, trying to get comfy.

"_Shh . . . I've got you."_

My nose touches something hot and my body eases, like all the creases are being ironed out.

I think it might be a good thing someone has me.

–**|*|–**

The next thing I know, Rose is jerking me awake.

"Bella," she says softly. "We're home."

I blink at her in the dark, my mind hazy and my body all jumbled up. "I was asleep?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Just for a bit." She nods. "Edward carried you to the car."

_That_ wakes me up.

"_What_?" I croak. "Why didn't you just wake me up?"

Shrugging, she says, "You were knackered." And then hops out of the car like everything's just fine and dandy.

I sit there for a minute in shock.

Then follow Rose in a daze up the stairs to our apartment.

–**|*|–**

As soon as we're inside, I immediately head for my room and collapse onto my bed, not even bothering to remove my shoes. My mind and body feel mutually spent, and there's nothing I want more than to spend a few hours in blissful ignorance of everything.

But there's something sharp and small and pointy in my pocket. And before you can say anything, _no_ – it's not Alice.

Digging my hand under my stomach, I pull the offensive item out of my hoodie pocket and squint at it in the streetlights shining through the window.

I blink a lot of times trying to read it, and then blink some more _after_ I've read it.

There's a number – eleven of them, actually – but it's the words underneath them that has that strange heat crawling up the back of my neck again.

It says –

_I see you._

**–|*|–**

.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: Ooohhh... **

**ace = very good, awesome**

**sound = good, excellent**

**sarcy= sarcastic**

**bloody nora = bloody hell, an expression of surprise**

**spark out = asleep, completely unconscious**

**knackered = extremely tired**

**Thank you for reading, and to those who leave kind, constructive reviews. Unfortunately, I received a rather unpleasant review last chapter, and of course they left themselves as an anon so I couldn't reply. I wasn't upset by it, because it is frankly the most ridiculous thing I have ever read, but I thought I should have my say nonetheless: **

**\- Edward will not be "sticking his dick" in everyone as you so elegantly put it. I'm not sure where you got that idea from.  
**

**\- He is not an "untouchable god", nor have I ever claimed he is one.**

**\- I am not a "whore", which you'd realise if you were smart enough to understand you don't actually know me.  
**

**\- Lastly, I want you to know that your review wasn't totally wasted. It actually made me laugh, to be honest. **

**\- Oh, and it's "whore" not "who're". If you're going to flame me, at least learn how to spell properly first.**

**But THANK YOU to everyone else. :) And a special shout out to the FicSisters who rec'd this story on their blog recently! Cheers guys!  
**

**See you soon!**


	8. Chapter 8: The Denial Twist

**Draw me In**

–**|*|–**

**Eight –The Denial Twist  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ Breaking down all my defenses**

**The distance is nowhere at all ~***

**.**

"Morning, Bella. Sleep well?"

_No._

"Yeah," I reply, smiling at Alice over my steaming cup of tea. "You?"

She sighs dreamily in response, drifting on over to the sofa and flopping down next to me. My eyes widen as I lay a steady hand over the top of my mug, hissing as my fingers touch the burning ceramic.

I shoot her a look, not that she notices, considering how away with the fairies she is.

I snap my fingers in front of her face. "Hellooo? Any one in there?"

Blinking quickly and with a sheepish smile, she says, "Sorry. I was miles away."

I raise both eyebrows, and then lower one. "I guess you slept _really_ well then," I grin, emphasising the "really" like a right git.

Her face turns faintly pink. "Oh, shut up," she mumbles, but she's smiling. Then, leaning closer and looking up at me with wide, excited eyes – "He actually gave me his number."

The mention of a _number_ sends an unwanted jolt through my system, but I quickly smother it with a smile. "You gonna give him a ring?"

She fidgets with her hands, twisting a ring around and around on her finger. "Maybe . . . but not yet. And he took mine as well, so . . . maybe I should wait to see if he rings first."

I suppress a chuckle at that. I once again count my blessings that I am _not_ a relationship person, if only to avoid the glorified game of bloody _hide and seek._

"Just do whatever you feel comfortable with," I yawn, leaning my head against the back of the couch. My eyes fall closed, but as soon as they do, his words are on the back of my eyelids, glowing and bright and messing with my bliss.

I snap them back open again.

"Bella, I'm really sorry."

My eyes widen in surprise at Alice's quiet tone, her words. Peering across at her, I can't help but frown. "You don't have to – "

"No, I _do_," she interrupts, her voice insistent. "I'm sorry I snapped at you before. I _don't_ think there's anything wrong with you . . . I don't know why I said that." Her look turns guilty. "Actually, I do. It was because I wanted to meet Jasper, and I was only thinking of myself."

I stare at her for a minute, noting the downward tilt to her shoulders with a sigh. Setting my mug on the coffee table, I reach out and take her by the shoulders. "Alice, you're not the first and you _definitely_ won't be the last person to regret something you've said. It's _okay_, really. And it's okay to be frustrated with me sometimes." I shake her shoulders a little, my lips curling up into a smile.

She exhales heavily, and then grumbles, "But I coerced you into going, even though I _knew_ you didn't want to."

I roll my eyes. "Alice, if I did everything I _didn't_ want to do, then I'd probably never leave this apartment." I give her another shake. "I need a push sometimes – or a _lot_ of the time – and I'm really glad you and Rose do that for me." She looks speculative, so I add, "Even if I act all stroppy in the process."

She looks at me dubiously for a minute . . . then smiles.

I smile back.

"But it's okay if you get frustrated with me sometimes, too."

"Oh, I do. All the time."

"But you never – "

"In my head."

_Eye roll_. "Just tell me when I'm pushing too hard from now on, okay?"

"Will do."

"Bella."

"Yeah?"

"Please stop shaking me."

_Woops_. "Sorry."

–**|*|–**

After that – with still no sign of Rose appearing any time soon – I gratefully trudge back to my room again. I eschew all guilt as I collapse back onto my bed because, well, it _is_ a Saturday.

I let out a great, long sigh as my eyes fall closed, trying to push all my thoughts away. But by doing that it seems I inadvertently invite them _in_.

_I see you._

What am I supposed to _do_ with that?

Frowning, my hand works its way under my pillow before I can stop it. I finger the sharp corners of the small card and feel the indentations of numbers and letters, but I don't open my eyes.

_He must have slipped it into my pocket when he carried me to the car_. The thought of that _alone_ sends an embarrassed tingle running through me – makes me feel even more naïve than I already do.

_I'm not a child_, I think. But I am . . . _so confused._

Despite the weights weighing my lids down, they still pull open. I peer at the card for probably the hundredth time, and yet I still feel no closer to understanding.

"What do you want?" I ask the room.

All the card says is –

_I see you._

My answer is always the same:

_Please don't._

–**|*|–**

"Bella?" _Rose_.

_Knock, knock._

"You awake?"

_Well, I am now._

"Yeah," I croak. "I'm up. One sec."

I let out a yawn as I sit up, blinking at the evening dusk strolling into the room. My eyes wander over to my watch where I proceed to gawk at the little hands.

_Oops._

For a blissful moment my head is too fuzzy to remember anything, but when I wobble-stand, something flutters off of me and lands on the carpet.

I hesitate for a minute, wondering if I should just leave it there.

"Bel-_la_." _Alice_. "We ordered Chinese, so you better hurry unless you want Rose to nick all the sweet and sour balls."

"I'm coming," I call back quickly, swooping up the card at the last second and stuffing it into my pocket.

–**|*|–**

The kitchen lights are bright when I walk in, and it takes a minute for my poor pupils to adjust and shrink accordingly.

"Takeaway _two_ nights in a row?" I say, by way of greeting. "How very risqué."

Rose rolls her eyes, loading her plate sky-high with sweet and sour balls. "We're living a little," she counters dryly, then turns a shrewd eyebrow on me. "Besides, you didn't eat much last night."

I shrug, finding the linoleum floor _so_ interesting all of a sudden.

"There _were_ a_ lot_ of things to distract us last night," Alice says, her voice ending on a sigh.

I shake my head, but smile as I grab a plate and start cluttering it with chow mein, rice, curry sauce and chips.

Rose just shrugs and says, "Meh."

–**|*|–**

"Meh," I scoff quietly under my breath, side-eyeing Rose. "_Meh_."

She turns to me with narrowed eyes, but the threatening look she's going for doesn't quite work because of the ball she just stuffed into her mouth moments prior. "What?"

I bite down on a chip to hide my grin.

"_What_, Bella?"

I hum around a mouthful of chow mein.

"I was just thinking," I say slowly, and after an age. "That it looked like you had a good time last night, was all. I'm sure it warranted more than just a _meh_."

"You and Emmett _did_ look super-duper friendly on that couch," Alice pipes up, and I turn to see her wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

I catch her glance and we share a grin before turning back to Rose.

"I just think," I begin again, dead serious, before she can respond. "That you should thank me for allowing you to find your soul mate." I feel the couch start shaking next to me as Alice starts to giggle. Rose is still narrow-eyed-y. "And that one day, after you take in one of his drum sets as your own; you will name a cymbal after me."

Laughter spills out from Alice and I can't hold back my grin any longer. Rose just shakes her head at us like we're a couple of prats.

"That was awful," Rose complains, rolling her eyes. She pokes me with her fork. "Please stop making your own jokes up."

I wipe imaginary tears from my eyes. "I will when they stop being funny."

"And true," Alice agrees, and we share a high five.

Rose stares at us, a reluctant smile tipping the corners of her lips up. "I do not know _why_ I'm best friends with you pair of loons."

–**|*|–**

After dinner, we pile onto the couch in various states of uncomfortable fullness.

"Ugh," I say.

"I know," Alice groans.

"Weaklings." Rose rolls her eyes as she pops the last sweet and sour ball into her mouth.

"You're going to _look_ like one of those one day, you know."

She counters with – "Don't _you_ sound just like your mother."

And I concede.

"So," Rose says after a while, drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch. "What did Edward say to you?"

The mention of _his_ name has my eyes widening and my pocket burning. "Uh," I say, and notice Alice perk up at my side. "He didn't say anything . . . I mean, you were in the room, too. He hardly said two words. In fact, just one as I recall, which was _hello_."

Rose narrows her eyes. "No, I mean before that – in the corridor."

"Oh," I reply quietly, my fingers twisting together nervously. "He just asked if I'd . . . if I'd stay for a little while, and that he was sorry he took so long."

Alice frowns. "Why _did_ he take so long?"

I shrug. "I dunno. He never told me."

"The pizza?"

I shrug. Again. "I guess." It's funny; when we'd bumped into each other I hadn't even noticed the pizza boxes. My eyes had been favouring the floor though.

"You just seemed . . . really quiet when you came back in."

"I _am_ really quiet," I say, laughing nervously, wishing they'd just let the subject drop.

_But – _

"Well, yeah," Rose acknowledges, tilting her head to the side. "But even more so than usual."

– _No such luck._

"I was just tired," I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "Manic day for me, you know?" And then, seeing an out – "And can you _please_ not let strangers carry me around?"

"We didn't wanna wake you," Alice says next to me. "And he offered."

I just shrug and pick at my fingernails like it doesn't bother me.

Rose clicks her fingers; an audible _eureka_ moment. "He makes you _nervous!_"

I jolt a little, but don't let it show. "Well, duh," I say, albeit a little shakily. "_Everyone_ makes me nervous."

"Yeah . . . " She trails off, and I _immediately_ distrust the Cheshire cat grin overtaking her face. "But in a 'you-make-me-_extremely_-uncomfortable' way, not in an 'I-don't-know-how-to-_deal_-with-you' way."

I blink at her. "Is there a difference?"

"Oh my god!" Alice squeals next to me, taking my arm in _surprisingly_ strong fingers. "You _like_ him."

I gape at her, feeling a blush paint my skin red.

"You're _mad_," I reply finally, shrugging out of her grip and standing on wobbly legs. The tiny piece of card in my pocket burns more than ever. "I don't _like_ him. I don't even _know_ him."

Alice and Rose carry on grinning.

"Stop that," I demand. "I don't know _where_ you're getting this idea from. He didn't even talk to me the whole time I was there!"

"He could probably tell you were uneasy," Rose says.

"And you did fall asleep not long after he came in," Alice adds.

"He didn't half look at you, though."

"And the way he carried you was so – "

"_Okay_!" I almost yell, face burning. Their words, as utterly ridiculous as they are, nevertheless evoke a reaction in me – the same one as when I read and re-read his three words over and over again.

"None of that even matters, anyway," I say, voice strained, my hand pulling at my hair. "So what if he likes me – which I seriously think is utter _bollocks_, by the way – that doesn't mean I like him."

Alice and Rose share a look, and I wonder if they can hear the quick beat of my heart.

"Bella," Rose says, her voice cautiously gentle. "Maybe I'll stop denying about drummer boy when you stop denying _this_."

"I'm _not_ – "

She raises a brow. "Exactly."

–**|*|–**

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* * *

**A/N: *wiggles eyebrows*  
**

**stroppy = bad tempered, argumentative **

**nick = steal**

**chips = fries**

**prat = a stupid person; idiot **

**He didn't half look at you = he looked at you a lot (used in spoken English to express a positive statement more strongly)****  
**

**Thank you so much for your kind words last chapter! As many suggested I do, I've deleted those reviews and have now decided to moderate guest ones. So such ugly words shall never see the light of day again (unless they want to be held accountable for their actions, which I suspect they don't).  
**

**Also, a question for you: I'm possibly considering writing an EPOV... so what'd you reckon?**

**Thanks again. :) See you soon!**


	9. Chapter 9: True Beauty

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Nine - For I never saw true beauty 'til this night  
**

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***~ So, here we go**  
**A face in the crowd,**  
**Jump up and jump down**  
**Baby, can you see through me?** **~***

.

The evening seeps into the city inconspicuously. It's an unseasonably warm night, and the building windows are lit up like kept stars. There is a non-stop flow of murmurings from below, like people were too busy to take the time for each other in the day, and there's a vague haze covering it all – more a film over my own eyes than the city itself.

I sit outside on the balcony, watching everything come alive.

"No, mum," I reply, holding in a sigh. "We're not out drinking. You can rest easy knowing that we're not on our way to developing cirrhosis anytime soon."

"Cheeky git," she replies, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "I know you're too old for me to be mithering you, but I do worry. Ever since you and your brothers became so known . . . well, I worry."

My exasperation softens. "I think we're a bit too old to be getting mixed up in all that stuff anyway."

Her chuckle drifts down the line. "Son, you're twenty seven, you _should_ be out having fun. It's just my prerogative as your mother to wish you wouldn't have _too_ much." My lips curl up as I flick ash away. "Now pass to me to your brother. I have something to say to him about that _birthday present_ he sent me."

I chuckle, rising from my seat and gesturing to Emmett through the glass. "See you soon, mum."

"Love you, sweetheart."

I pass him the mobile when he slides the door open and pops his head out. "It's for you."

He raises a brow, and then smiles as he puts it to his ear. "Hi mum." I don't bother to hide my grin as I watch his face fall; listen to him stammer out an explanation.

"It was only – "

"But I never – "

I laugh silently.

"Hey mum," he says loudly, narrowing his eyes at me. "Did you know that _Edward_ has taken up smoking again?"

My laughter stops.

_Tosser_, I mouth.

He grins, sticking two fingers up at me before disappearing.

I sigh as I fall back onto the chair, taking a long drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out. The smoke escapes in wisps, swept away by the wind and deposited with the rest of the smoke in the city below.

I close my eyes against the lights, letting the nicotine do its work.

I had given up about a year ago, only sneaking the odd fag here and there, but for the past week I had been going at them rather liberally. But I couldn't help it. Smoking had always lulled me, and I had been driven to frustration, my focus impelled to the peripheral as something entirely more distracting took front and centre.

A girl.

Just a girl.

I had never been one to lose sight of real life just because I so happened to be in a relationship at the time. Essays or exams or friends usually took precedence while the relationship sat on the backburner. The girl was never . . . in the spotlight. And I had all but driven any hope of having another one into the ground a few years prior, letting myself be absorbed by the music, and only that.

Yet one stolen glance at a girl in a crowded room and . . .

She wasn't _just_ anything.

My heart beat breaks through the murmurings of the night as I recall the moment I first saw her.

–**|*|–**

_I could feel the sensation of so many bodies near, all thrumming to the beat of our music as the lights blared down on us, sending moisture seeping out of my skin and clinging to my shirt. The microphone slid between my fingers and I felt rather than heard the sound of my own voice as it resonated through the speakers._

_There was adrenaline everywhere, and I bathed in it._

_My eyes fell to the crowd, and though the spotlight was bright, I felt indebted to them enough that I should try to see them. But my gaze, as ever, was filled only with empty wanting; eyes that trailed and took, only ever lingering on surface and skin._

_I shook my head as I sang harder, my voice gritty and my throat sore. _

_When it came to my solo – something that was relatively new – I picked up my guitar and gratefully sat my arse down. My hands shook before I started – nerves and adrenaline sliding together – and then I began to play._

_My head remained down as I plucked at the strings, moving quickly then slow, quick, then slow. The spotlight felt ten times hotter now the rest of the stage was dimmed, and I could hear my heart as I poured it out in song._

_But I couldn't look up. I had performed this song live a total of five times, and it still felt too raw, too personal. Daft as it was, every time I played this it felt as though I were giving a little part of myself away . . . and I wasn't quite ready to face anyone as I did it._

_But then something caught my eye._

_It was a small thing, not the glow of a mobile or the flash of a camera, but something like a tiny zip reflecting the light and twinkling in the peripheral of my vision. I looked up on instinct, a little bit dazed, as my eyes sought out the source._

_And my fingers _almost_ faltered, my voice _almost_ stopped._

_For a minute all I could make out were her edges – just the soft corners of her dark hoodie, the reflective zip, and the high hue in her cheeks. For a minute I could only see the soft curves of her hair, the way she looked so small in comparison to the jumping bodies around her._

_And then I saw all of her._

_I didn't really know what it was, precisely. Perhaps because it was a conglomeration of many things rather than just one; the way she stood so still amongst the rapid of bodies, remaining in her own space despite the tidal wave that threatened to swallow her whole. It was in her quiet, soundless stance – and in the way she _wasn't_ looking at me._

_As the night wore on, I stole periodic glances at her, and each time she would be watching my hands, or Jasper's or Emmett's. Her expression seemed curious and assessing, and so hushed in comparison to the madness around her._

_I wondered if she knew how unprecedented she was . . . and how much that intrigued me._

_At one point, when I stopped to address the crowd, my gaze snagged on hers the moment she looked up._

_And I don't believe in strange, mystical forces such as fate or destiny . . . but there was something in her eyes that made my mind take a step out of my body – pulling away from the words I was saying – until it felt like I was there in the crowd, with her, and I was falling and flying all at once._

_Because her gaze was a tangible thing._

_And it wasn't skating or skirting the surface my skin._

_It was sinking into it._

–**|*|–**

Standing up and walking to the edge of the balcony, a shudder dances across my skin as I remember. I peer out at the lights and wonder if she's in one – dancing or working or living.

My hand hovers over my pack of "cancer sticks" (as mum would call them) as I gaze out into the lights. I weave one in and out of my fingers but don't light it.

"Hey, Ed."

I jolt slightly, the fag falling from my fingers and rolling onto the floor. I swipe it up before it tips over onto the city below and turn to face my brother.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna go down and get something to eat," he says, gesturing behind him. "You want anything?"

I shake my head. "I'm good, thanks."

He squints at me. "You sure? You've been off your food for days now."

I chuckle. "Yes, _mum_, I'm sure." I shrug and light the cig, blowing the smoke into the air. "I had a big lunch."

Jasper rolls his eyes. "Yeah, five whole _cigarettes_."

"Sod off. I've already had Emmett in my ear about it."

"I know," he chuckles. "He seems to be having great delight in outing you to mum. So." His eyebrows lift, a grin appearing on his lips. "Does your sudden relapse have anything to do with a certain _someone_?"

I shake my head, already turning around. "Piss off, Jasper."

His laughter is the last thing I hear before the door slides shut behind him.

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: *holds breath*  
**

**mithering = to make a fuss; moan**

**tosser = an unpleasant person (basically another way of saying "wanker")**

**sticking two fingers up = making a "v" sign with your index and middle finger (with palm inward), used as an insult  
**

**fag = cigarette**

**So, there was a resounding "yes" to the possibility of an EPOV last chapter, so... that was Edward. What'd you reckon? I hope I didn't disappoint anyone! I'm sorry about the wait, but I'll _hopefully_ be able to update tomorrow as well to make up for it. We've not finished hearing from our boy quite yet. ;)  
**

**Oh! And there's also been a very lovely banner made for this story by the very kind FicSisters! You can find it on their blog, and there's also a link to it on my profile if you fancy having a butcher's. :) **

**See you (probably) tomorrow!**


	10. Chapter 10: Blind Before You

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Ten – I Think I Was Blind Before I Met You**

**.**

**.**

***~ I want so much to open your eyes**

**'Cause I need you to look into mine ~*  
**

**.**

_After finally finishing up, and feeling my blood rush quicker through my veins than it was while performing, I quickly grabbed one of the security. Quietly, and so Jasper and Emmett wouldn't hear, I'd located the row and seat number and asked if he would bring her backstage. _

_That done, I'd all but run there myself, yanking my fingers through my hair over and over again, but my thought process remained the same –_

I have no idea what I'm doing.

_I had never asked anyone to be "brought" here before, and it felt a little bit shady doing it now, to be honest. But I couldn't just let her go without . . . _

Without what?

_I had no idea._

_Emmett and Jasper came in not long after, and I made a half-hearted attempt at making it seem like I was talking about whatever they were talking about, and not miles away._

"_Mr. Masen?"_

_I jolted in my seat, turning quickly to the security guy who'd just entered the room. Only vaguely, I heard Emmett and Jasper quieten down._

"_I've got your guest for you – and two of her friends, whom she wouldn't come without. They're waiting in the room down the corridor."_

_Heart in my mouth, I replied, "Thank you."_

_When he left, there was silence for a minute._

_Emmett broke it with – "Well, you think you know a guy . . . "_

–**|*|–**

_It was pathetic, but I'd used the guise of getting pizza in order to stall._

_In actual fact, I had ordered them in and had spent the half hour waiting for them to come in varying states of distress._

_It was ridiculous. I could perform on stage in front of thousands, but I couldn't work up the nerve to go and talk to a girl?_

"_Stop being such a bloody wuss," I whispered, staring at myself in the mirror. _

–**|*|–**

"Brought you something, anyway."

I catch the warm, wrapped up package Jasper tosses to me only barely, and he grins.

I eye the offering with a raised eyebrow. "This is not from downstairs."

"Nope," Jasper says, dropping down into the seat next to me. He unwraps his own burger and bites, letting out a sigh. "This is better."

I finish my cigarette and stub it out, and we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"So . . . " Jasper begins, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "That girl Alice gave me her number . . . "

A smile crosses my face at he nervousness in his tone. "You fancy her, huh?"

He shrugs, and I turn my head to see him flicking imaginary lint from his jeans.

"You gonna give her a bell?"

"I don't know." He takes another bite of his burger, staring out into the night with furrowed brows. "Maybe I should wait a bit. I mean, that's what I'm supposed to do, right? I don't wanna seem over eager."

A little chuckle escapes me as I reach across and shove him lightly. "Stop being such a bloody wuss and give the girl a call."

–**|*|–**

_I walked right into her._

_Or she did me, but – semantics. _

_I had only just stepped out of the room. After fumbling with the door handle one handed – hot pizza boxes in the other – I had taken about three steps down the dimly lit corridor, only to feel a soft body collide with mine._

_A little jolt went through me at the contact, but the apology that was on the tip of my tongue shrivelled up and died the moment the person looked up._

_It was _her_ – the girl from the audience. _

_Not only edges now._

_But close._

_I stared, and when she looked up, I was only afforded a brief glimpse of her close-up gaze before she looked down again._

"_Sorry," she mumbled, trying to side-step past me._

_But I mimicked her, stepping to the right and left as she did. _Why was she out here? Was she leaving?

_The thought sent an irrational – considering I'd only just _met_ the bloody girl – surge of panic through me, making me feel suddenly cold despite the boiling pizzas in my hand._

"_Excuse me," she said, and I could hear the thinly veiled frustration in her tone._

_I was acutely aware of how much of an arse I was being, but that still didn't stop me from stepping in front of her again. Or from reaching out and grasping her arm. If she would only stand still for a second, I could . . . _

Could what?

_I still didn't bloody well know._

_She jerked back at my touch, her mobile tumbling from her fingers and her words escaping her in a quiet gasp. _

"_Forgive me," I uttered quickly, reaching down to retrieve her phone. _Moron_, I mentally berated myself, letting my eyes fall shut for a second_. _Two minutes in and I'm already messing it up._

_When I rose from my position in front of her, I kept my gaze careful, hesitant. I tried to take in her newly upturned face passively, but she was all lips and eyes, and despite her dark clothes that merged into the din, she _didn't.

"_Hello," I said around a dry throat, pressing her phone back into her hand. I should have let mine fall away, but I didn't. "Leaving already?"_

_I watched as her eyes grew round, a blush colouring her cheeks a dark pink as she took a step back. Her gaze fell to the floor as she stammered, and something inside of me seized. _

_Uncomfortable, curious, I asked – "Are you leaving?" I tipped my head down to try and catch her gaze, but she was having none of it. While she remained silent, my voice grew a little bit more desperate. "I never got a chance to talk to you."_

_I attempted to close the distance then, but she widened it._

_Her voice was barely perceptible when she answered – only one syllable – and that something inside of me seized a little bit tighter. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," I said earnestly, trying to get her to respond to something, _anything_. But she merely nodded, so I took a step towards her, again._

_And she evaded, _again_._

"_Would you consider staying a little while?" I tried, still attempting to catch her gaze. "I can take you home after, if you'd like."_

_In response, her shoulders seemed to droop, and the smallest tremble skirted along her soft edges, the strands of her hair. "No," she replied, voice small. "That's alright."_

_Completely at a loss as to how to make her stay, I resorted to my last measure._

_I turned on what Emmett and Jasper have dubbed "my charm."_

Christ_._

_I felt ridiculous as I lowered my tone, trying to inflect it with the raspy shades I drew on when I performed, and then I chose my next words very, very carefully._

"_I can't tempt you?"_

_But my feelings of idiocy were all but washed away as I watched her swallow – hard – and her cheeks flush even redder. Something inside of me stirred – and I couldn't help but wonder what else I could do to make her blush._

_My eyes widened as the thought flittered through my mind, uncensored. And I stared down at the top of her head in surprise, as if she'd planted it there herself._

So unprecedented.

_Her friend came around the corner before she could reply, calling her name. I was only listening with half an ear as introductions were made, straining closer to the small figure in front of me in case she uttered a sound, or decided to peg it again._

_I followed closely as they retreated back down the corridor, not understanding the relief I was feeling but not being able to stop it. When she stumbled, I caught her arm quickly to stop her from falling, feeling how soft she was even through all of her layers._

"_You alright?"_

_Her nod was slow, and her gaze wasn't on me._

_So I slowly withdrew my hand, watching her cheeks light up as I brushed my thumb across her palm. I watched her closely, willing her to glance up, but she never did._

_It was like that for the rest of the night. After murmuring out a quiet _hi_ to me – seeming to look up only out of a sense obligation rather than any actually want – she remained in the same spot for the rest of the evening. She never looked at me again._

_I snuck inconspicuous glances at her throughout the night; though I had a feeling I wasn't as crafty as I thought I was being. But I watched as she seemed to retreat into herself – curling up like she was trying to make herself as small or invisible as possible – with that odd twisting in my chest._

_I wanted to talk to her – to do anything that might make her respond to me, but I was held back by her shrinking figure. I didn't like it, and I had a sneaking feeling that I was the cause of it._

_So I kept my gob firmly shut._

_But I couldn't stop my gaze. So even though her eyes wouldn't find mine, apparently, mine couldn't stay away from her._

Christ, _I thought again._

_And then –_

I'm in trouble.

–**|*|–**

_She had fallen asleep._

_Knowing that it couldn't make her uncomfortable now, I turned my gaze on her sleeping figure. Her head had fallen onto her friends – _Tinker's_ – shoulder, and she was in the current process of easing her down onto the arm of the sofa, her body at an incline._

_My eyes startled at the sight of her pale skin, contrasted so greatly with her dark brows and eyelashes, but for only a second. As if she could sense my stare in her sleep, her hair suddenly loosened from behind her ear and fell across her face in waves._

_I clenched my jaw at being denied, _again.

_Forcing myself to look away, I dropped my head down and clasped my fingers across the back of my neck. She was throwing me through a loop and she'd barely said five words to me._

_But I think that it was _because_ of this that I was so thrown. _

_After being in the spotlight for so many years – and before then, if I'm honest – I was so used to being seen. Everything in my life had always seemed so simple, so achievable if I tried hard enough, and sometimes, even if I didn't. I was used to being sought out – by employers, women, people who wanted to sign me – us – and the like. _

_But her quiet indifference – her _avoidance_ – was something new._

_Her gaze that looked deeper, past all the surface-apparent things, was also new._

_Picking up my head, my eyes were automatically drawn in her direction. And as I watched the gentle rise and fall of her body, I wondered if she realised how unprecedented she was – how enticing – and how she was completely and utterly – _

Drawing me in.

–**|*|–**

_"I'll be back in a sec."_

_Vague sounds of acknowledgment reached me as I practically sprinted from the room, not stopping until I was inside of mine._

_Once there, I pulled out a card from a stack on the desk and almost yanked the small pen I always kept from behind my ear. For a moment I stared down at the blank space, and then I filled it with numbers. _

_I didn't even need to think about the words that followed._

–**|*|–**

_"She's spark out."_

_"We should be heading off now, anyway."_

_"Here," I blurted, and they all turned to look at me. "Let me take her."_

_When they offered up no protest, I slowly walked over to the sleeping girl on the couch. I hesitated for a moment, then carefully slid my arms around her_. When I had her, I held her close to my chest, both because I didn't want her to be chilly when we stepped outside, and because . . . because it felt nice to hold someone so soft again, after years of eschewing women altogether.__

__When she started to squirm, I hushed her and held her a little bit tighter.__

__"Shh," I whispered. "I've got you."__

__At my words, she ceased moving, her forehead and nose and lips falling onto my neck. I closed my eyes for split-second, swallowing as I felt her sigh _–_ her breath hot on my skin.__

__"Edward?"__

__My eyes snapped open, an unexpected heat burning the back of my neck as I noticed Jasper watching me with a raised brow. I looked away from him, holding Bella to me tightly as I walked out of the door.__

__When we reached the car, I ducked down to place her inside. Under the guise of settling her, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card. I didn't hesitate as I slipped it into her hoodie.__

__I hesitated a moment before leaving, hovering over her in the small space.__

__"I see you," I whispered, brushing away wayward strands from her face and letting the moon kiss her skin. "Please don't let it be the last time I do."__

__Then I stepped back and watched them drive away, my heart racing. __

_Because while I wasn't used to seeking _–__

_I had the distinct feeling I was going to be really bloody persistent about it._

__–**|*|–**__

"So, when are we off again?"

I glance up at the moon, clear and bright and unobstructed by clouds. "A week," I breathe out_, _smoke falling from my lips.

"Jesus Christ," Jasper complains, fanning the air in front of him. "What is that? Your fifth one?"

I roll my eyes. "Maybe I'll stop when you learn our bloody schedule."

"Right," Jasper says dryly. "And Cameron isn't slowly privatising the NHS."

"Think fast."

I raise my hand just in time to catch the mobile Emmett tosses my way. Unfortunately, the fag slips from my fingers as a result and singes the inside of my arm.

"Fucking hell!" I hiss, knocking the burning stick away. I stand up and spin around to face Emmett, standing half on the balcony, half in the room. I glare at him, glancing down at the burn mark. "What the bloody hell's wrong with you?!"

"Oops," he says, smiling sheepishly, palms raised. "Sorry about that, Ed."

"Wanker," I spit.

He rolls his eyes. "Stop being such a pansy." Stepping over the threshold, he lifts my arm and brings it to his eye level, despite me trying to yank it away. "I think you'll live," he says, releasing me. "Just put some ice on it."

"Piss off."

His eyebrows lift. "Bit arsey tonight, aren't we?"

"Bollo _–_ "

"You've got a text," he continues loudly, cutting me off. "I settled that, er, _present issue_ with mum, by the way _– _thanks for asking. Though she's not best pleased with you."

"You're such a _–_ "

"You're welcome!" Then he disappears back into the room.

I stare after him for a moment, torn between being pissed off and begrudging amusement.

"He came, he burnt, he ticked you off," Jasper drawls from beside me.

"Story of his life," I mumble, glancing down at the dark screen. I swipe my thumb across it and it glows to life.

"That mum?" he asks, and I can hear him grinning.

I frown. "I don't know, it's a _– _"

My eyes widen, and the sudden burn in my skin has nothing to do with the cigarette.

Inwardly, I finish _–_

_Unknown number._

* * *

**A/N: *pegs it***

**fancy = feel a desire or liking for**

**give her a bell = give her a call**

**gob = mouth**

**peg it = meaning to "leg it" - to run away **

**Cameron = David Cameron (prime minister)**

**wanker = a contemptible person (used as a generalized term of abuse) **

**arsey = bad-tempered or uncooperative**

**So sorry for the wait! I went back to Uni on Monday and it's even more overwhelming than I remembered! **

**Thanks for reading. :) See you soon! **


	11. Chapter 11: What You Wanted

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Eleven – What You Wanted**

**.**

**.**

***~ And in the night, you hear me calling,  
You hear me calling ~*  
**

**.**

That night, and in all the nights that follow, my mind turns over my friends words almost obsessively.

In the daytime, it's fine. I have the privilege of being surrounded by so many books, so it's almost easy to ignore the daunting thoughts and _his three words_. I focus on stock, on income and outcome, on serving customers, and, in the quiet moments that fall, on the pages themselves.

But in the night . . . it's not so easy. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the word _easy_ may as well _delete_ itself from my vocabulary in the night time hours.

A soon as I shut my eyes, the evening replays in my head – from start to finish like a bitter (because anything that deducts from my sleeping hours can _only_ be defined in such a way) symphony.

_We go inside, we get crushed, the lights turn low and then they're all lit up. _

_They're quick and fast, and he's rough and raw, and then they're gone and he's just raw. _

_Slow down; I think he sees me, maybe not – probably not._

_Backstage and monopoly, then I drop my mobile and he asks me to stay._

_Then he's close and I fall asleep, and then he's even closer._

_A burning in my pocket – _I see you.

And in said non-dreams, I send four words back:

_I wish you wouldn't._

–**|*|–**

I don't notice the week that passes. Or at least, I pretend not to. I'm an _ace_ pretender.

I've taken to staying at the shop later than usual, arranging and rearranging my books. I do them alphabetically – first by author, then by book title – then I scrap that and sort them by genre, deciding that in the grand scheme of things, it's more important to group them by horror or romance and so on than by anything else.

The sorts of things that wander through my head are – _what if they only wrote one good book? What if they only wrote _one_ book? What if the customer has a specific "mood" they want to cater for and they bloody well can't because names and titles are pretty ambiguous?_

And so forth . . .

When I return home, Alice and Rose are _always there_, and they always seem armed with a specific kind of "look." And I somehow know what it means without _wanting_ to know what it means.

"Stop that," I snapped on Tuesday. "You're not going to break into my mind through the _power of your stare."_

Alice had only smirked. "I don't need to." Then, mimicking my sarcasm had said in a deadpan, "It's _written all over your face."_

And, again, so forth . . .

It wasn't just that, though. There were accidental things – like sitting on the bus next to someone with _their_ music blaring from their headphones, blokes playing acoustics on the street, even the colour of the bloody autumn _leaves_ reminded me of his, in Rose's terms "piss poor hair."

(It was just easier to put a negative twist on things).

In short, I was going a little bit mad.

I knew this because despite all of the aforementioned, I still kept his card under my pillow.

–**|*|–**

Sunday morning brings with it the loud – obnoxious, in my opinion – sound of the hoover. I grunt as I roll over in bed, throwing my pillow over my face and groaning.

What is _wrong_ with these people? Don't they understand the concept of a _weekend_?

By which I mean, you do as _little_ as possible.

I wait a painful five minutes, letting out a sigh when the noise stops. I'm just on the edge of falling under again when the radio starts up, blaring one of Alice's obsessions over the speakers – _Bublé._

"Damn you Michael," I whisper-muffle. "If I had a little black book, you'd be bloody well in it."

I press the pillow over my face one more time before throwing it off of me. The little white card hidden under it flutters in response, landing – where else – on my face.

_I see you_, it greets.

I glare at it, cross-eyed. "Oh, sod off."

–**|*|–**

The first thing I say when I walk into the kitchen is – "What are you doing." Not even a question, because I'm too tired to raise my intonation.

Alice swings around at my voice, dancing – yes, _dancing_ – across the kitchen to me. "Morning, Bella!" she chirps, and I think she could probably muster enthusiasm for the apocalypse. "How'd you sleep?"

Because everything in this room is too loud, I lean over and spin the little knob on the radio until the volume is much, much lower. "I was enjoying it," I deadpan, then peer around the kitchen at the bucket and mop, the bleach on the counter, and other such cleaning stuff scattered around. "And then this happened."

She rolls her eyes at me, giving me a quick hug before darting over to the counter. "I'm spring cleaning."

I give her a blank stare. "It's _autumn_."

She gives a little shrug, ringing a cloth out over the skin. "Can never start too early."

I start slowly backing out of the kitchen. "In all aspects, I can safely say you have."

"You're not gonna help?"

"It's _Sunday_," I say in exasperation, as if that should be sufficient on its own, because, well, it really ought to be. "Why are you even doing this?"

She pauses in her wiping, glancing at me over her shoulder and giving me a sheepish look. "My mum's coming round."

I withhold a groan at that little titbit. "And where has Rose disappeared to?" Because there's no way she's slept through this. She's the _lightest_ sleeper on the planet, as in, breathe-too-loudly-and-feel-my-mardy-wrath.

"She went to town."

"Of course she did," I mutter under my breath. "Well," I say, sighing like I'm really put out. "I've got some, uh, book keeping to do today, so . . ."

"But it's Sunday." Throwing my argument back in my face.

"Yeah, well . . ." I trail off, turning the volume on the radio back up right before I scarper. "Can never start too early!"

And then I disappear.

–**|*|–**

On the walk to my book shop – wrapped up in about three layers as well as a parka and sweltering because I always walk too fast and it is _incredibly_ mild for October – I feel a little guilt at abandoning Alice.

I mean, I know she's her mum and all, but she can be _scary_.

Not in a Rose, breathing-fire kind of way – on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, actually.

She's intimidating because she's icy – reserved but cold and calculating with it. Everything about her makes me feel about two inches tall.

She's a bit, okay, a _lot_, of a toff.

The difference between her and Alice never ceases to confound me.

Once I'm in, I immediately shrug my coat off and hang it on a little hook in the back room. I turn on the heating and flick the kettle on, flopping into the chair and resting my head on the table as I wait.

–**|*|–**

After filling up a whole new section dedicated to overwhelmingly underappreciated (but good) books, I meaner on over to the door and flip the sign from _closed_ to _open_. I don't expect any customers – it's _Sunday_ – but you never know.

That done, I settle into the comfy chair behind my desk and the snag my book off the side. The silence of the shop makes me sigh, and I get lost for some hours in the words on the pages.

_Dracula_, thankfully, has no relation to my reality right now.

–**|*|–**

Turns out I was wrong.

(Not about the Dracula thing).

People _do_ venture outdoors on Sundays.

I count around ten people that trickle in – though there's usually only one person present at any time, and only a few actually buy books. (One, much to my delight, selecting a novel from my "underappreciated" section). But they seem different than they do in the weekdays – lazily browsing more than anything else.

My tenth (and as it turns out) my last customer is an elderly lady with one of those little trolleys. She comes in at around 7PM, giving me a smile before disappearing behind the shelves.

By this point, the words in front of me are blurring and I'm yawning all over the place. Placing the book down, I pick up my mobile and check my inbox out of habit.

I have: _0_ _new messages._

No – wait, that's not true. I have one from _Pizza Hut_ giving me a 50% off voucher. That's for: _today only!_

"No, ta," I mutter-grumble, rubbing my tired eyes.

I play pac-man for a while, relying on the glow from the screen to keep me awake until my not-yet-customer-but-browser leaves and I can lock up and go home. I'm hoping that Alice's mum has buggered off by now. I wouldn't think this was the kind of area she'd feel "safe in" at night, at least, that's what she's always telling Alice.

I return to the home screen after a while, touching the screen until numbers appear. I start pressing them mindlessly, chin in hand, and before I know it I've typed in exactly eleven digits and saved them under _TS_.

I.e. – _the singer._

I stare at my hand for a minute in shock, as if both it and the phone are objects so alien I can't fathom what they are.

I snap my head up and look around me for a minute, suddenly paranoid.

What.

Am.

I.

_Doing?_

I meet my shadowed reflection in the shop window, but it's just as wide-eyed.

Glancing back down at the phone, my back suddenly stiff as a board, my thumb moves on its own accord and starts to text, filling the blank space the way I always do in my non-dreams.

_I wish you wouldn't._

I sit there for a while and stare at the letters, feeling an unexpected burst of relief swell inside me. It's probably daft, but seeing the words physically _there_ makes me feel as though I've responded even though I haven't. It's like . . . like I'm getting to refute his words (sort of) without any repercussions or judgement.

It doesn't matter that it's not real. I've said – typed – it . . . and it makes me feel better.

"Excuse me."

Startled by the sudden voice, my thumb smudges across my screen as I glance up, almost dropping it entirely. Quickly, I deposit the mobile on the desk and smile at the elderly lady.

"How can I help?"

After finding the book she was after out for her, I wish her a goodnight and start turning everything off. My phone lies abandoned on the side, forgotten, as I switch of the aisle lights and heating, unplug the kettle and _finally_ spin the sign back around until it's bidding a firm _closed_ to all.

At the last minute, I stuff my phone into my pocket before pulling my coat tight around me. The night air is much fresher than it was in the day, and the semi-warming sun has been replaced by a cold moon, spilling its white inky light over the pavement.

Cars pass me at regular intervals as I walk along the main road, golden leaves crunching underfoot. But I'm used to this kind of noise, and even the rain can't dampen the quiet smile on my face, hidden carefully behind my coat.

–**|*|–**

"And _where_ have you been?" Is how I'm greeted when I step into the flat.

"Work," I say simply, shrugging off my coat.

Rose's eyes hit her hairline. "Alice said that. I just had to hear it for myself."

I roll my eyes as I walk into the living room, plonking down onto the sofa next to Rose. I try to nick a crisp out of her giant bag of _Doritos_ but she slaps my hand away.

"Did you see Alice's mum?"

Rose groans, swiping a hand across her face. "Do not talk to me about that woman."

I snort – can't help it.

"Oh, _Rose_," she says, mimicking her high-pitched tone. "How _lovely_ to see you. Are you still working at that garage? How very _working class_ of you."

I laugh, loudly. "She did _not_ say that."

Rose huffs around a mouth full of crisps. "Practically."

I give her shoulder a little pat. "For what it's worth, I love your working class self."

She smiles and nudges me, and after a minute of silence says – "You're still not getting any of my crisps."

–**|*|–**

A little while later, after discarding my top and exchanging it for a much larger, much more comfortable one, I'm about to take off my jeans to replace them with the softest, fluffiest pyjama bottoms _Primark_ can offer, when my pocket starts vibrating.

A giggle spills from my lips at the intense tickle, and I quickly pull the offending object out of my clingy denim pocket.

But when I swipe my finger across the darkened screen, my smile fades.

I have: _1 new message._

From: _TS_.

My breath rattles out of me, and my body gives out, falling to the floor with a _thud_.

There are now words under my: _I wish you wouldn't._

For a minute I just let my eyes focus on my own – let the others fade into an indistinct blur. My heart is suddenly the loudest thing in the room, and I have the urge to bury my phone under my pillow, with his card.

But I don't, and my eyes dart down before I can think better of it.

_I can't stop_, it reads. _You're everywhere._

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: *hides*  
**

**hoover = vacuum **

**autumn = fall**

**toff = a rich or upper-class person (usually used in a derogatory way)**

**ta = thank you**

**crisps = chips **

**Sorry for the wait! Uni is kicking my arse. :(  
**

**Thanks for reading. :) See you soon!**


	12. Chapter 12: Who You Are

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Twelve – Who You Are  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ And you're far away  
But you are always on my mind ~*  
**

**.**

I think I must sit there for a while.

I think this because A) I miss the transition of going from warm to cold, from being bathed in soft red light to a harsh orange, and B) I don't register the lull in the traffic, the lessening of cars as the people that drive them settle down for the late night.

So when I finally tear my eyes away, I'm chilled and quiet, and covered in so much dark.

The orange stretches across the carpet but doesn't reach my hide-y space against the side of the bed, so as I peer around now my eyes suddenly tell me _ouch_, tell me, _that's really bloody bad for us, you know._

"Sorry," I squeak, letting the phone fall out of my vice-like grip to land with a soft _thud_ below.

Lifting my hands, I ignore the tremble I can feel but can't see and push them into said eyes, rubbing the dry pain away.

_How could I have sent it?_ I think to myself. _How how _how?

_Your thumb slipped, moron. _

I crush my palms against my temples as I remember almost dropping my phone when the lady came out of the aisle. It hadn't occurred to me then – _why_ hadn't I clocked on?

_It doesn't bloody well matter now, does it?_

I huff.

_He had your number figuratively before, well; now he's got it literally. Well done._

"I'm such a moron," I groan, thumping my forehead onto my knee with each word.

_Yes_, my not so tactful side agrees.

–**|*|–**

That night, I don't sleep with his card under my pillow.

Instead, I stuff it to the back of my junk-filled bedside drawer with my mobile. Unfortunately, as I'm doing this, it starts vibrating with a new text, which in turn makes me yelp and chuck it – mindless of the billion new scratches it's getting.

And then I scarper.

–**|*|–**

"Helloooo? Bella? Anyone in there?"

I blink quickly, only just noticing the hand Alice is waving in front of my face.

Giving my head a minute shake, I turn to face her. "Sorry. What?"

Her mouth is open like she's going to speak . . . but then she slowly closes it again. Her eyes narrow and survey my face, and I fight the fidget I feel. _What can she know?_ I think, trying to squash down the panic, my mind unwittingly casting back to the vibrating mobile in my drawer. _How can she know?_

"You alright?"

I'm nodding even before she's finished saying _you _– a nervous habit I've had since forever. Agreeing as quickly as you can with someone always seems to make them stop talking just a little bit sooner. I remember doing it at school, college – even university, with teachers and lecturers and personal tutors. I was an utter failure with people in general, but being around any kind of authority made me about ten times worse, like I wanted to shrivel up and disappear.

"You just seem . . ." she trails off, her eyes squinting into the middle distance as she searches, ". . . spacey," she finally decides on.

I shake my head again, knocking sense back in. "That's not a thing," I retort, smiling a little weakly as I lean my head on the back of the sofa. Then, seeing as she's about to protest, I quickly deflect, "How was your mum, anyway?"

I try to rivet my undivided attention on Alice, but despite this, it still splits in two.

–**|*|–**

I retreat to my bedroom that night after all the stalling I can manage. I contemplate just kipping on the sofa, but then realise how daft I'm being.

I'm not going to let a few _words_ keep me away from my _own_ bloody room.

But still, I hesitate outside my bedroom door and have to think: _am I?_

Then I tug on my hair and think: _no._

Once inside, I cast an almost fearful glance at my bedside drawer before shaking my gaze away. I roll my eyes at myself as I start padding my way over to the bed, but abruptly pause halfway there. I shoot a glance at my desk, where my laptop is sitting, and after telling myself I'm _only going to check my emails_, I quickly dart over and grab it before collapsing onto my bed.

I do, as a matter of fact, check them, but my gaze catches on the MSN homepage when I sign out, and my eyes grow as wide as the moon.

The inner effect is instantaneous: my heart speeds up and my stomach seizes like I'm about to free-fall from a thousand foot drop.

_I see you_, I think, but this time I'm addressing rather than receiving.

But I only get a glance before the image is gone, sliding to the left and being replaced with a picture I don't really see because my mouse has already clicked on the little _x_ on the tab.

Then I go to Google, and I don't even pretend as I type in his name.

–**|*|–**

One hour later, I'm still surfing.

Still gaping.

I stumble across wiki pages (one about him, one about his band, and one for each of his band mates – whom I have discovered are also his _brothers_), fan sites, facebook pages and twitter accounts (none of these social media accounts actually _belong_ to him, though, there seems to be an official one for his band).

Basically, I find out lots.

Things like: his birthday is on Christmas. (Whose birthday is on _Christmas_?)

Like: As well as the guitar, he also plays the piano, ukulele _and_ kalimba. (Who plays the _kalimba_?)

Like: He has a dog – a German shepherd – called Bear. (Who calls their dog _Bear_?)

And I'm trying to put a negative twist on these things (but I sort of think they're fantastic) so I can't. So then I try to put a negative twist on _him_, but no-one seems to have a bad word to say; fans are awed, newspaper articles are glowing, and other artists and celebrities are so bloody complimentary – about him _and_ his music.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger," I whisper in dismay.

Because the whole of the bloody _world_ _wide web_ seems to be telling me he's as pretty inside as he is out.

–**|*|–**

I toss and turn in bed after I close my laptop down. I tried to avoid looking at pictures (which was nigh on _impossible _considering how enthusiastic people are about his face – "jawline" was one of the words which frequently, er, arose) because it felt almost . . . _clandestine_.

. . . Which is probably ridiculous considering I'd been reading about his _actual self _for god knows how long, which is pretty assuredly a lot more intimate and personal than simply staring at him.

I groan, palming my face.

Then I think – _I shouldn't be doing either._

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: **

**clocked on = noticed, realised  
**

**kipping = sleeping**

**So . . . short and sweet, I know. But expect an update tomorrow, too. :)  
**

**Thanks for reading. :) See ya tomorrow! **


	13. Chapter 13: Wednesday Evening Blues

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Thirteen – Wednesday Evening Blues  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ Breathe in the light  
I'll stay here in the shadow ~*  
**

**.**

_**Three days later . . . **_

I watch Rose get ready in the bathroom; powdering warm hues over her lids and brushing a bright red across her lips. I'm sort of fascinated as I watch the colour glitter on her skin, and then sort of sneezing as she squirts on perfume.

"Go into the living room," she chides, splashing some on her fingertips and rubbing it behind her ears.

I think for a minute, trying to remember why I came in here. Then I realise I'm sitting on the toilet and – "I need to pee."

She rolls her eyes. "You just kicked me out ten minutes ago to do exactly that."

Placing my hands semi-protectively over my lower stomach, I say defensively, "Leave my child sized bladder alone."

"Your child sized bladder is the reason you feel the need to dehydrate yourself hours before we go anywhere."

I give a little shrug, accepting, and then dig my elbows onto my crossed legs as I watch her take the straighteners off the side and sweep them down her hair. I think I like watching the ritual of Rose and Alice getting ready because it reminds me of my mum doing the same when I little; squishing my face up next to hers in the mirror and liking the smell of her perfumed skin as she leant down to kiss me goodbye (even though it made me sneeze about fifty times).

"Where are you going again?" Because I have no idea. I came home from work to find Rose and Alice dolling themselves up, all sparkle and sheen that they usually reserved for Saturday nights, not Wednesdays.

"Town."

"Duh," I say.

The corner of her mouth lifts, not quite a smirk – closer to a smile. "A _restaurant_ in town."

My eyebrows wedge themselves into my hair.

"Don't give me that look. We don't just go to clubs, you know." She gives me a pointed stare before turning back to the mirror.

"It's not that," I say slowly, lowering my brows. "It's just – you _hate_ restaurants." I blink at her, and then at her fancy get up. "Especially posh ones."

"Yeah, well . . . " she trails off, then gives that strange little smile again.

Meanwhile, I sit on the toilet feeling equal parts confused and needing to pee.

"You ready?"

Alice pops into the bathroom, head first, then the rest of her. Unlike Rose, who's dressed in a deep red dress, Alice is donned in silver – silver dress, silver shoes, silver eye shadow.

"Yep," Rose says, taking one last glance in the mirror before turning and walking into the living room. I follow behind them, disregarding my uncomfortable bladder for the minute.

Once there, Alice grabs a tiny sequined bag off the side and slips it around her wrist. And even though she's wearing so many bright things, the brightest thing on her is her smile.

"You guys look really nice," I say honestly, my gaze a little _awed_ as I take in their appearances. I've never been much of a girl in any aspect, least of all clothes (I think the last time I wore a skirt was as an awkward year seven), but just because I'm not comfortable wearing things that mark me as feminine (or just as a _female_ really), doesn't mean I can't admire how much Rose and Alice really rock _their_ femininity.

Rose shoots me a small grin, smoothing her hands over her red wine dress while Alice bounces on the tip of her high-heeled shoes (though even in those she's still much smaller than Rose).

"I know." Alice smiles and I let out a little chuckle. "But thank you for saying so, best friend." Then she glides on over to me and gives me a hug, pulling back to say, "We'll get you in a dress yet."

I scoff. "And pigs will fly."

She grins and releases me. "It could happen."

I wave her off, but something's still bugging me. "So. You guys are going to a restaurant," I say. "For food." My eyes dart between them. "To eat."

Eye rolls from both. "You covered the last thing you said with the second."

I stare at them.

They stare at me.

"Okay," I concede, palms up. "I'm confused. _You_ hate restaurants," I say, pointing to Rose. "And _you_." I turn my pointing finger on Alice. "_You_ won't eat in half the restaurants up town because of their" – I finger quote here – "level of hygiene."

They share a look after I finish my mini tirade, and for a minute I wonder if I'm being to nosey, too intrusive . . . but then decide it must be okay on some level considering I've been living with them for the past _five_ years.

"Alright," Rose says, raising an eyebrow. "So we're not _really_ going to a restaurant. But we are going to town . . . and then out of it."

I squint at her, feeling more confused than ever. "Then why did you – "

"Jasper!" Alice bursts out.

My eyes grow wide. "What?"

Biting down on her bottom lip like she's trying so hard to restrain a smile, she says, "I'm meeting Jasper . . . and Rose is meeting Emmett."

I blink, and then blink again. "Huh?"

A grin finally spills across her lips. "Jasper called and asked . . . well he asked if he could see me again . . . and he's not going to be in Birmingham much longer so . . . "

"Oh," I say dumbly, my mind reeling a bit.

"And Emmett called me the other day," Rose pipes up, looking sheepish. "I suppose it just made more sense to meet up together."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

I shake my head slowly at first, and then quickly as I register what she's saying. "No! I mean . . . why are you _sorry_? This is good, right?" My eyes dart to their upturned mouths. "You guys seemed really chatty the other week."

Alice wiggles on the spot, shifting her weight to and fro. "We just . . . we thought for sure that Edward would . . . and he didn't . . . and we didn't want you to feel like we were leaving you out or anything."

The sound of _that_ name startles me a little bit, but I don't let it show. I quickly shove it and him far, _far_ away – as I've been doing for the past three days – and concentrate on my friends.

(I have been channeling my inner _Scarlett O'Hara_ by thinking: "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.")

(On a bloody _loop_).

(And, as you've probably realised, "tomorrow" has yet to surface).

My wide-eyed glance darts between them, more than a little dumbfounded.

And then I just tell them – "You two are off your bloody rockers." I add – "I'm _happy _for you." Because I _am_. I'm not a relationship-y someone, but I know they are. "Try to be happy for yourselves, alright? You don't have to worry about me all the time, you know?" I shake my head then start making shooing motions with my hands. "Now bugger off and have a nice time, will you? There's a bath and a bottle of bubbles in there with my name on it."

"Are you – "

"Oh my God," I groan, palming my face. "You have two, er, _hunky_ – " (not really used to applying adjectives to men, I just go with it) " – blokes waiting for you and you're up here with me," I say, not even fighting the exasperation I feel. I might be incapable in many regards, but being alone isn't one of them.

I soldier on. "And maybe I can't legitimately ask this considering my own _lack_ of experience, but for the sake of the rest of womankind . . . what is _wrong_ with you two?"

–**|*|–**

After I wave them out the door (peeking out the window to see them step into a _limousine_) I collapse onto the sofa with a sigh. I'm surprised and I'm not – Rose and Alice are all over lovely, clever, pretty people, so in that, it's not surprising that anyone should want to see them again, big music stars or no.

But in another, much more subjective aspect, it _is_ – it _always_ is.

_So little time_, I think. _They've only just met._

But then, well . . . I guess that's always how these things start out.

–**|*|–**

**.**

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**A/N: **

**off your rocker = crazy**

**Bella, Bella, Bella... that sounds like foreshadowing to me... but what would I know? ;) **

**Next update: before Wednesday! (and it's a good'un) **

**Thanks for reading. :) See you soon!**


	14. Chapter 14: Romeo and the Lonely Girl

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Fourteen – Romeo and the Lonely Girl  
**

.

.

***~ The more that I think, how I need you**  
**The more that I think, the more it seems true**  
**And now it means more**  
**Than I ever meant it to ~*  
**

**.**

While I'm gathering my pyjamas for after my bath (because even though I'm home alone, I hate walking out of the steamed bathroom in just a towel because once out the temperature drops _very_ quickly – getting changed in the bathroom is just the all-round warmer option) I steal a glance over at my drawer.

And because I'm the biggest wuss on the face of this bloody planet, my mobile is still in there.

It's not that I haven't been tempted to look – that was the _problem_ – it's just that my fear kept winning out. It's like when I got feedback on assignments at college and uni – I'd always stuff it in my bag and pretend it didn't exist for a week until I got the nerve to look.

I mean, I _know_ that I can't change what's been written, and if it's there I might as well see because there's nothing I can do about it. But it's . . . it's like there's suddenly a room full of people around – watching me, scrutinising me. And sometimes it's not even a room full of people . . . just a room brimming with one.

Because I'm a wallower.

I _wallow_.

So reading things stemmed from anything unknown makes me nervous because I know I can't stop the swell of embarrassment and shame that comes with it. Like, I don't want to be on the receiving end of this, so stop trying to _make_ me be.

I swallow a little thickly as I stare at the drawer now, feeling heat creep up the back of my neck as I clutch my pyjamas to me like they're a shield (albeit a soft, sort-of pointless one).

And then, in my trademark style, I –

_No_, I don't _trip_, thank you very much.

I peg it.

–**|*|–**

I let out a sigh as I sink into the hot water, feeling it soothe my muscles and relax me in a way nothing else does. Closing my eyes, I lie down until the entirety of me is covered, and then I shudder.

Seriously, if I ever went to a sauna, I reckon they'd have physically remove me before I melted.

_So warm_, I think, dunking my cold nose in.

Leaning my head back, I try to will all of my busy thoughts away, but just as they do in the night time, they seep in – floating on the steam that fogs up the mirror and sinking into my hot cheeks.

As his gaze (green, incidentally – I had hardly looked at him the night I met him, but fan sites had been crazy thorough) pops into my mind, smudged with his words, I sigh. _Again_. I had been trying to scold myself into not thinking about it – _him_ – by attempting to point out the embarrassing side to my thoughts.

Which sort of went like:

_I don't even know him._

_He's just a man._

_Get a bloody _grip_._

And so.

I mean, I was a school girl once, I'd had a crush or two, but even then I'd never obsessed about it like this. I had been so shy – even more so than now – so nothing ever became of them. They were just a nice face to look at in Spanish or History, and it had been a very much "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing.

I think I sort of treated them more like glorified posters than anything else.

_Anyway_, my point is that back then they were just sort of . . . baseless, superficial thoughts that I spent less than five minutes on. I never expected anything to come of them and I never wanted it to, either.

But now . . .

Groaning, I give my head a little whack on the plastic behind me and snap my eyes open.

"Shut up," I mutter to myself, bringing my hands out of the bubbly water and tap tap tapping on my temples like a right nutter. "I don't like him. I _don't_. Sod what Alice and Rose think_. I_. _Don't_."

_Who are you trying to convince – the bubbles or yourself?_

"Bollocks," I mumble, sinking down until my thoughts are muffled by the water.

–**|*|–**

I stay in the bath until I get pruny, and then some.

Like sleep and books and doctor who, bathing is also one of my favourite things.

I decide it's time to get out when I almost do the first while I'm submerged. No need to add _almost drowning_ to my list of casualties (yes, I have a _list_).

So with a lamenting little sigh, I pull myself up from my recline. I'm in the process of ringing the excess water out from my hair when I hear a noise.

I pause, squinting at the bath taps in front of me as if that will make the sound any clearer.

I wait and then –

_Knock knock._

"The door," I conclude a little dumbly, still staring at the taps. When the knocking comes again, I try to blink away the slight haze covering my eyes but realise that's it just really quite foggy in the _bathroom_ – not in my head.

My squint carries on round the room until I spot something shiny in the fog. It takes me a minute to discern it, but when I do –

_Rose's bag._

I roll my eyes as the knocking sounds again, taking my time in standing from the hot water. I forgo my pyjamas and instead just reach for the towel, relying on the heat from the bathroom to just get me to the door and back.

"I'm coming!" I sort of yell as I tighten the towel around me, quickly snatching her bag off the side and stepping into the living room, the carpet growing a little damp under my feet. "I swear, you'd lose your bloody head if it weren't screwed on."

Once there, I pull the door open – well _try_ to, anyway. Our carpet has some serous thickness to it, as in; it's an uphill battle forcing the wood over the bleeding thing. "You forgot – "

I break off then. _Literally_. My speech just comes to a screeching halt.

Because the door is three quarters of the way open, and I can clearly see it's not Rose standing on the other side. No one even remotely feminine, in fact.

It's a _bloke_.

For a moment I just stand there, dumbfounded. I can't see who it is because their head, as well as being tipped towards the floor, is encased in a dark hood, and I think they might be wearing . . . _sunglasses_?

I think –

_What?_

And then –

_Christ. First Alice with her spring cleaning, and now this. Don't people understand the concept of _autumn?

So I'm thinking these, admittedly daft thoughts, while standing in front of a _stranger_. A _male_ _stranger_. A _pretty tall_ _male stranger_. A _pretty tall male stranger_ who, to be honest, is looking a bit _shifty_.

And to top it all off?

I'm in a _towel_.

I think I might groan or squeak or something, because he suddenly looks up. As in, I don't even see the motion, just the fact that he was looking down a minute ago, and now he's . . .

. . . looking right at me.

(I mean, I assume so at least, because I can't see behind the dark lenses of his glasses).

But still, my eyes widen, and unwittingly, I take a step back.

_Who?_ I think, but can't get my mouth to form words, as the fact that there is a _strange man_ on my doorstep has sent my nerves haywire. I can feel the increase in tempo of my heart and the blood pooling under my cheeks. Suddenly – as quickly as he looked up – I find my hand tightening on the door, and I'm about to slam it closed and lock the ten trillion locks we have when –

"Bella."

The sound of my name startles me, and my hand seizes – unable to move for the moment. I can feel my palm sweating on the metal, but all I can do is stare up at the man with round eyes . . . which only grow even rounder as he pushes his hood back, and removes his glasses.

And because I'm useless, I'm pretty sure I stop breathing for a second.

"Bella," he says again, smiling a bit. His eyes drift before they focus on mine again. "I guess you, uh . . . " Drift and lower. I can't even find it in myself to be self-conscious or embarrassed, I'm that bloody bowled over. "I guess you . . . you never got my text."

Tiny goose bumps form on my skin as I stare at him, and when they turn into small trembles, I suddenly find myself in control of my body again.

"No," I whisper-choke, my throat clogged with the beat of my heart. Not _no_ to his question but _no_ to the fact that he's here. On my _doorstep_. Stood in front of _me_.

I watch his eyes widen a second before I push the door so hard, it really does make a _slam_ as it closes.

–**|*|–**

I hide in my room.

For the past twenty minutes I've been sitting on my bed, alternating between staring blankly at the wall and have little panic attacks.

My thoughts go something like:

What_ is he doing here?_

Why_ is he here?_

_Oh god oh god oh god._

I keel over and duck my head between my knees, still kind of shaking. This couldn't be any more opposite to what I had planned for this evening. I was going to have a bath, eat something not-healthy but delicious for dinner, and splurge out on the sofa or my bed with a marathon of doctor who.

_This_.

_This_ is not that.

Even as I press my hands so tightly over my ears, I can still hear the vague muffled sounds of his knocking. Or talking. Or whatever he's doing.

_Go away,_ I think.

_Please go away._

–**|*|–**

Ten minutes later, the noise has stopped.

I hesitantly remove my hands from my ears, cringing a little as the blood rushes back and crushed nerve endings hiss at me. Pulling my head up, I glance at my darkened door with baited breath, clutching my towel tightly as I wait for something else . . . but I wait a further five minutes and there really is nothing. No sound. No knocking. No talking.

_Nothing_.

Letting out a relieved breath, I stand and shudder as the cold air nips at me. Slowly, I pull my door open and peek out – as if there's something out there waiting to grab me – but find the coast clear.

I can't stop the little trembles that wrack through me as I pull on my pyjamas. Even though I'm not cold anymore, I watch as my hands shake as I brush through my hair. In my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I notice my pale cheeks and seemingly irremovable startled expression. I look frightened.

I _feel_ it.

–**|*|–**

Eventually, after pretending for as long as I can, I make my way back over to the front door. I walk on tiptoe, not making a single sound as I maneuver along the soft carpet – knowing the placement of squeaky floorboards and religiously avoiding them.

"He's gone," I whisper – inaudible – to myself, right before I lean up and look out of the peephole . . .

. . . and then yank myself back so fast I fall backwards, landing with a very audible _thud_ behind me.

"Bella." A sound on the wood, as if he's sliding his palm down it. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Heart thumping, mind reeling, and butt and palms sore from where I just got a serious case of carpet burn – my initial reaction is to flee, again.

But instead I blurt – "What do you want?"

I guess not being able to see him makes me a little braver.

Silence then, and in it I scramble up, backing away slightly. I see the latch and so badly want to lock it, but I'm kind of leery about getting that close again.

So I just wait, trying to squash down the panic.

"I just wanted to see you," he says, voice soft even through the wood. "I'm leaving in a couple of days and I . . . I guess wanted to see you one last time before I left."

I can feel my face burning at his words, and even though I can't see him, I still avoid looking at the door he's hidden behind.

_I see you._

_I wish you wouldn't._

_I can't stop. You're everywhere._

"You . . . you saw me," I say shakily, my hands lifting, tugging at my hair. "Please – " I want to finish with _leave_, but something stops me.

I'm not good at being firm with people, and I don't _want_ to be mean to him. I just . . . I don't know . . . I don't know _how_ . . .

"Not for long enough," he says, and I burn. "And I'd really like to talk to you, too."

I swallow thickly, overwhelmed. "You . . . " I trail off, trying to steady my voice. "You don't even . . . _why_ do you want to . . . "

"I don't know," he admits, and his voice sounds so close – almost like it did at the concert. "I just know that I want to."

My bones grow soft at his words, and my body sinks to the floor. My mind is caught in a loop of – _I don't understand._

"Please," he says, when I don't respond, his voice low and dripping with . . . _something_.

I shoot a look behind me, at my bedroom door and feel the compelling urge to run to it and hide under my duvet until he's gone. It's so strong that I actually take a little shuffle backwards . . . but then that _something_ clicks with something inside of me, and my insides crack a little.

Turning back to the door, I whisper, so quietly I'm not sure he hears me, "I don't think I can."

But he does. "You can," he replies quietly. "You just have to let me in."

–**|*|–**

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**A/N: O.O**

**Just to let you guys know: I'll be buggering off to Romania in the early hours of Thursday (23rd) morning to visit my brother, and won't be back until the 31st of October. So I won't be able to update for over a week. Very sorry! But I hope this chapter makes up for it. :) **

**Thanks for reading. :) See you all soon! xo **


	15. Chapter 15: Automatic Stop

**Draw Me In**

**–|*|–**

**Fifteen – Automatic Stop  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ A lot of people get confused and they bruise**

**She don't mean to be mean or hurt you on purpose ~***

**.**

_Turning back to the door, I whisper, so quietly I'm not sure he hears me, "I don't think I can."_

_But he does. "You can," he replies quietly. "You just have to let me in."_

_._

Minutes pass in silence.

Well, _outside_ of my head, anyway.

Inwardly, there's a dull ache throbbing in every single non-corner of my too narrow mind. I can hear the heavy, subdued roar, like the distant sound of someone's voice when you're underwater, but for the life of me I can't quell it.

For once, I'm too loud _inside_.

I let my head drop into my palm as I stare unseeing at the carpet. The unexpectedness of the situation has made my heart rattle all the way up to my mouth, so I can practically taste each _thump_ _thump_ on the tip of my tongue.

_Stop being so bloody ridiculous_, I chide myself, but no matter how many times I try to reprimand myself back into motion, I still remain super glued to the carpet.

_If Alice and Rose could see me now . . . _

I give my head a rough, frustrated shake before glancing up at the door. The handle suddenly seems to foreground itself, looming and large in my vision, but at the same time it's never seemed further away – like the handles I remember on the doors at nursery; all the way up so we couldn't escape.

_An entrapment analogy, really?_

"Shut up," I muter to myself, like the certified loon I am.

_He's just a person_, I reason. _You see people every day at the shop._

_Yeah_, I think back dryly_, but they're out seeking books, not _me_. _

I grow hot at the thought, and have a sudden bizarre imagining of someone taking a crayon to my face and colouring it a waxy red – an unflattering sheen to match and everything.

Being so subdued all throughout my schooling (and life, basically), I'd had few friends. In fact, as I went through primary to secondary and then on to college and lastly, University, the amount I did have gradually lessened. My guess was that as I grew more self-aware, and as a result, self-conscious, I grew quieter and less inclined to be around people because I was afraid. Afraid of what? About a million and one things.

But the one that plagued me the most was I didn't know whether or not I was wanted, and I was loathe to put myself out there, because I couldn't stand the thought of being rejected. So after a while I just stopped. I let myself think that nobody wanted to be my friend and . . . well, it was so much easier when I did.

Anyway, the point is that I'd gone through most of my teenage and adult life being just fine with living on my own peripheral, away from the throng of life which people occupied. I had two good friends now, and that was enough. So for the rest of eternity I had dubbed myself content to being invisible to the rest of the world, to being just another face in an overly populated planet.

And then this.

_This_.

A groan almost slips its way past the cracks in my heart then, but only ends up escaping as an inconsequential wisp of air. _I wish I wasn't like this_, it seems to breathe, which is this amount of helpful right now:

Not.

Very.

My glance slides up from our shaggy carpet up to the door again. Uncertainty and fear (_duh_) bubble in my blood, rattling nerves and veins. I don't know that it's his 'celebrity status' that is adding fuel to my admittedly out-of-control fire, or simply just . . . everything else.

Like:

The staring.

The card thing.

The texting.

The interneting.

The showing-up-at-my-door-completely-unannounced-and-speaking-about-things-I-don't-understand…ing.

You get the picture.

"Hey," the door says softly, but not really the door. I yank myself out of my self-obsession and automatically throw a hand over my heart, because it seems to have forgotten he was so _close_. Not a concert or a screen away, but a mere _door_.

My insides squeak.

_Squeak_.

I didn't know they could do that.

Is that even a _thing_?

_Babble, babble, babble._

_Spillage in aisles one to everywhere. _

_Clean up in Bella's brain._

Thankfully, my heart is still clogging my throat so I remain mute.

Strangely, so does he.

His quiet turns my ears a little. I hear a muffled sound before the distinct sliding-on-wood noise comes again – but louder, like it's his back rather than his palm.

I wait.

But – nothing.

So tentatively, I shuffle closer to the door and after a minute press my ear against the wood. I strain, and make his next muffle out.

Lowly, he mutters, "I don't know how to do this."

_Ditto_, I think.

Feeling suddenly tired, I let my eyelids fall until I'm covered in darkness. I bring up the soft sleeve of my pyjama top and press it against my cheek; breathing in the sweet smell of fabric conditioner. My mum never wavered in the one she bought when I lived at home, and neither do I.

The smell comforts me, as it always does, and I feel my heart start to slow.

But then he speaks again.

"Do you want me to leave?"

The words are soft, but heavy, his tone quiet, but foregrounded. There's the distinct urge to snap my eyes open, but for my own sanity, I keep them closed.

Pushing my heart down, I force out, "Will you?"

Silence follows my request, and I never knew it could be so loud.

But then he eventually says, "Probably."

And then –

". . . Because I don't want to creep you out by sitting here all night."

My eyes snap open, surprise pulling my gaze to the door and opening my mouth in a silent _oh_. _Easy_, I think. _So easy_. My lips part a couple of times but without words. When I do find them, I'm still having to push them out – away. "It would be . . . easier." I swallow, undeniable truth coating my tongue in bitter. "If you left."

"Yeah," he utters quietly, glumly. "If I didn't plan on coming back."

_Well, _I think.

_There goes the easy-beating of my heart._

"What?" I blurt, unable to quell it, and frankly, kind of worried my heart's going to fall out of my mouth any minute now.

"It's like I said," he replies softly, and then that gentle sliding sound again. A shudder rattles through me as he strokes the wood. "You're everywhere."

And it's just –

– _too much._

Blood boils under my skin, and all of a sudden, the softness inside of me leaves. Instead, I feel something hot and volatile pricking at my nerves, rendering my skin red and aching. Everything I might have read or heard or seen dissipates into smoke; emptying into clear before I can touch it.

"_Stop!"_ I burst out – surprising myself. I yank myself to my feet, finding my eyes wide and glaring. "Just _stop it_."

A beat of silence. "Bella . . . "

I shake my head even though he can't see, because just the way he says my _name_ burns. "I'm not . . . I'm not doing this with you."

"I don't – "

I cut him off. "This game or . . . or whatever it is you're playing. I'm not, alright?" My voice catches, and my chest wavers as I swallow my heart back down. I back up one, two, three steps. "Just . . . just leave me _be_."

"Bella, no," he rushes out, his words blurring, smudging into one. "That's not what I – I'm not _playing_ with you." I hear the muffled sounds of his movement once more, but this time it seems so _loud_.

My head shake shake shakes, and my eyes feel too wide. My glance falls all around the flat, but the usual sight doesn't seep the anxiety of the day away . . . because the source is knocking on my door. It's like . . . like when you lose something you need for _that moment_, and your panic or frustration is spiralling because you're going to be late, or just because you really _need_ it. And you can't concentrate on anything else, or nothing makes sense until you've found what you've lost.

But I'm not missing anything.

I sink down onto the plush carpet again, hand tugging at the drying strands of my hair. I take a couple of breaths, willing sanity back in and irrational panic down. My gaze flickers over to the clock, split-second wondering how long Alice and Rose are going to be.

Clearly, avoidance is the way to go.

_Break the habit of a lifetime, why don't cha? _

I bang my head against my knee.

A lot of times.

He bangs on the door.

A lot of times.

"Go away," I mumble into the softness of my pyjama-covered knees.

Stops.

Then –

"I think you've got the wrong idea."

"You said you'd leave if I asked."

"Actually, I _know_ you've got the wrong idea."

"You're creating a disturbance."

"If you'd just _let me in_ I wouldn't have to be."

"I don't just _let_ strange men into my home."

"Fine. Just hear me out then."

"No."

Banging again.

Lots of banging.

"I'm ringing the police."

I'm really not.

"Fine."

Stops.

I stare into my self-inflicted darkness, hear my heart beating so loudly. My muscles, poor sods, remain tight and rigid and ready to scarper; physically reacting to the mental meltdown going on right now.

_Ace_.

His voice cuts through my sarcasm, soft and lilting, and in that moment, I really hate how much I don't hate it at all.

"This isn't a game," he says.

"I didn't come here to mess with your head," he says.

I burrow deeper into myself, breathing in the soft smell of school days and clean sheets; Christmas evenings and warm summer dawns. The nostalgia is always ever-present, but the sting seems especially sharp then.

I am missing things – constantly.

But for some reason, everything is suddenly foregrounded, as if the unwanted _now_ is surfacing the wanted _then's_ I can never have back.

It makes me angry.

_Again_.

I lift my head up, my frown set and heavy. There's a maelstrom of feelings swirling around inside of me, and it makes me feel out of control in a way I haven't felt in . . . _forever_.

I don't just _get_ angry.

I don't even _like_ being angry.

"_Why_?" I request then, crumbling a bit, my frown pushing down into my eyes until I can't tell whether I'm sad or mad. "Why are you here?"

He doesn't answer for a little while, and in the silence I hear his words from earlier, the trepidation in his tone. Guilt and doubt gnaw at the twisted ridges in my stomach, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the too-rough of it all.

But then he says, quietly –

"You humble me."

My eyes blink open in surprise.

_Oh_, I think, and it's pretty much all I _can_ think for a bit.

The sad-anger, as quick as it swelled, releases again, leaving my insides cool. _This isn't about me_, I realise (conveniently disregarding everything but those three words for the moment), and gratefully – and gladly – take a step away from myself.

_Bye, bye, you bloody nutter._

"Bella?"

I swallow, the way he gentles my name still strange. But it takes me a minute to respond – or something like that – because being _sudden_ seems too harsh now.

"Yeah," I reply softly then, blinking against the capriciousness of my _everything_. I unfurl from my tight ball and stand one leg at a time. I feel wobbly. "Well."

"You just." Pause, slide slide slide on the door. "You're different."

Now my bout of spasmodic blinking is brought on by disbelief.

My thoughts go something like –

_What?_

And then –

_You only just met me. _

_(And 'met' is a bit of a stretch, to be honest)._

He seems to realise this too.

"I mean," he tries to clarify, and I think that might be frustration lacing his tone. _At the situation? Me? Himself?_

_All three?_

If so, then, you know, _ditto_, again.

"You _seem_ different," he finishes.

Immediately and unbidden, my mind flashes back to the concert, to all the, er, _enthusiastic_ people there, and then to the internet and various blogs and newspapers and twitter feeds and blah blah blah . . .

And then I think –

_Right._

_He's a celebrity._

_I'm supposed to be, uh, aware of that._

_And I am._

_I just._

_I'd be reacting like this regardless of whether he was, you know 'famous' or not._

_Because I'm crackers. _

_(See above)._

"Alice and Rose don't care about you, either," I blurt out, mental filter gone. My eyes widen, and even as I lift my hand to my mouth, the words barge on through, bold as brass. "Go be humbled by them."

I wait a minute with kept breath and cringing . . . only to have surprise coat my exhale and morph my expression as I hear his laughter through the door, travelling across the invisible bass staff that extends from him to me.

_What?_

_Why is he laughing?_

_I was being (rude but) serious. _

"You – " he begins, but dissolves into laughter again before he can finish. I frown at the door, crossing my arms over my chest. My mouth lifts up, and then frowns down again. I must look like a right twonk, but I can't settle on what to do – or feel.

When his laughter finally, _finally_ dies down, he manages to get out, between giggles – "You're something else," he decides, and it's so easy to hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn't hear his laughs. "You _are_ different."

My stomach stirs. I don't like it. "Am not."

_Yes._

_I am a five year old again._

"Are too."

_And apparently, he is as well._

I almost let out a groan, but instead start pacing. My eyes catch the window, and for a minute I gaze out into the black, at the tiny little lights glittering in the distance, signalling the city, signalling life. It's so loud out there in the fray, but here, all I can see is the shine.

My gaze darts back to the door then, and all of a sudden I'm envisaging myself opening it, of being in the centre of something rather than hanging out on the peripheral.

It pretty much fills me with dread.

But also . . . _something else._

I shake my head and quickly push that _something else_ away. It was like when I used to look forward to going back to school after the summer holidays, my stomach would blot full of butterflies . . . but their wings would stop fluttering soon after I went back.

I don't know why I ever felt like that. School was not my favourite thing. I guess maybe because it was something different after the six weeks of mostly sitting in the house, complaining about the heat and the sudden lack of clothing it required to be bearable.

But different isn't good just because it's something, well . . . _different_.

Different is just different.

I'm just not that good at accepting it, is all.

"You texted me," the door says.

My eyes widen at the non-sequitur. "What?"

"First," the singer's softly smudged voice says. "You texted me first."

I do the head shaking thing again, though this time it's more of a weird jolt. "I . . . I never meant to," I reply, my voice earnest and honest, like it's so important that he believe me. My palms turn themselves up, wanting him to know he has no tie, no need to feel obligated or – "It . . . it was an _accident_."

Silence. "An accident?"

My palms close. "My thumb slipped."

My eyes fall even as I'm speaking.

_Yeah, that doesn't sound like a really bad fib._

_God_.

"How do you – " Tired sigh. " – Never mind."

I tug on my hair a bit.

_Guilt._

_Guilt, guilt, guilt._

"You're really not gonna let me in?"

Slow.

Sad.

I stop myself sinking to the floor for the millionth time.

Because even though I'm the _last person in the world_ qualified to interpret the feelings of others, I can't help but think he sounds like the tangled up cords in my throat, the crushed nerves in my fingertips and the swelling ache in my head as my mind chucks out my brain, and replaces it with my heart.

He sounds like all of that.

He sounds like my insides.

And _even though_ I've only seen him perform once, and heard him sing that lonely song _once_, somehow, I feel as though his voice is his transparency, so I know he's not pretending.

How is different _just different?_

I take a breath.

_How do you just know?_

I take a step. Then two. Then three.

Until I'm standing in front of the door.

_It just is. _

My hand shakes as I reach out and grasp the cold metal.

I open my mouth and colour my lips in water.

"Oh **–** " I break, I tremble, but I finish. "Okay."

_You just do._

**–|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N:*collapses*  
**

**crackers = crazy, insane  
**

**Yeah, so that was a bit (a lot) exhausting, and she hasn't even opened the door yet!**

**Very sorry for the long wait! Been crazy busy with Uni. And when I'm free of that, my three year old sister likes to take up everything else (mainly: my time). **

**And if you're interested, I'm on twitter! (ProlificNovice) Just so I can let you know I'm alive and writing and stuff. Link on profile!**

**See you soon. :) xoxo **


	16. Chapter 16: Don't Look Down

**Draw Me In**

**–|*|–**

**Sixteen – Don't Look Down  
**

**.**

**.**

***~ I feel like I'm on fire  
nothing I can do ~***

**.**

I open the door like how I might pull off a plaster.

Really bloody slowly.

It's not that I always take my time peeling back that painful little sticky strip – innocuous looking it may be, innocuous feeling it is not – but I do so way more often than the 'rip' approach the common phrases favours. I get that it's supposed to apply to your wider life in that sometimes you just need to _get stuff over with _and not be all faffing about with it.

But really.

_Really?_

By now it should be painfully obvious that I'm sick in the masochistic way, say, 109 year old vampires sometimes are. I.e. I have a penchant for drawing out the painful moments to the nth degree.

Not that I, you know, fall in love with my supposed-to-be dinner.

Because that would be weird.

_Anyway_. Plasters.

_Plasters, plasters, plasters._

Not that it's even an apt analogy because I have really limited experience in that area.

My mum never used to buy them.

Didn't like them or something.

Can't say I blame her.

Anyway.

_What am I doing again?_

My mind falls out of its emergency-nonsense place and back into reality just in time to avoid hitting myself in the face with the door. I jerk my head and timber just about grazes my cheek, and suddenly, the door is all the way open.

(Well, as _all the way_ it can get with our uncooperative carpet).

My heart is in my throat again, and my eyes don't know where to look. But like at the concert when I first heard his voice, I find them super-glued to him; the dark colour of his shirt, the jacket in his hand, the absolutely mental state of his hair and the sharp cut of his jaw that's dusted in burgundy. My gaze goes all over, like in the moments _before_, my body talks before my brain can.

But not too much.

Because I still can't settle on him.

"You . . . " he starts, but doesn't finish, and in the ensuing trail-off my gaze darts to his mouth.

In place of words, he smiles.

My eyes widen.

My skin heats.

And I squeak – "Me."

His smile grows.

My brain catches up, and I look away.

And then he's asking, quietly –

"May I . . . may I come in?"

And because I can't say no.

I say –

"Yes."

My gaze remains fixed on the thin slice of side-ways door as he moves; his black shirt and bright hair smudging in my peripheral. I'm still a bit out of body, so I don't scarper when I should. Instead, all I can do is freeze when he brushes against me as he passes through the doorway.

_Too close_, I think, and despite the sudden warm particles zapping about in the air, my insides feel full of snow.

Kind of robotically, I shut the door.

Then I just sort of stare at the mixed-grain wood as I try to get my heart under control. But I should know from my vast experience in being uncomfortable that this –

– never works.

But I'm at a loss. Because forgoing the whole famous thing, this is a situation I've never found myself in before.

Ever.

And by that I mean: _ever ever._

I mean, Rose and Alice had had blokes round before, but they weren't here for _me_.

_Crap_, my mind mutter-shouts, _crap, crap, crap._

I cringe, still facing away, feeling my face flame anew.

_He's not here for me_, I try to console myself, remembering his words from earlier.

_You humble me._

Okay.

Fine.

_Fine_.

_Plaster_, I think.

With that in mind, I release my death-grip on the handle and let my sweaty palm fall to my side. I count to five and then can't count anymore because the anticipation is making everything feel so much worse.

_Just a person_, I assure, and this should make me feel better, at least in part. Because it was when people swarmed in groups that stole my breath and made me shake. Singularity was easier to accept because when people are by themselves it's more likely that they _want_ to be alone; more probable you're not going to even register in their peripheral, let alone their centre.

I don't know how to deal with this – _him_.

And I really hate how it's making me feel.

_Why did I open the door again?_

"I'm sorry."

The voice, the words, make my eyes snap open from when they'd unwittingly fallen. Colour flashes in front of me and a spark of pain before it fades. I eye the door before finding myself reluctantly rotating on my feet.

I turn around – _how else?_ – slowly.

My eyes catch on him but they spin and sway and make everything fuzzy fuzzy fuzzy. Finally, my gaze lands on a safe spot over his shoulder, and I think god might be taking the piss because my safe spot is my _bedroom door. _

_Ace._

_Great._

_Don't show me that._

I want to run.

But instead I mutter –

"Okay."

_Okay_.

In the following silence, I start to fidget. I can't keep my gaze up and instead drop my eyes to my twisting hands, digging fingernails. I can feel the heat on the back of my neck, because even though I can't see his stare, I can _feel_ it.

I always thought that was complete and utter _bollocks_ when I read that in books. How could you feel a person's _stare_? I'd always roll my eyes and scoff a little bit, as you do, because it seemed ridiculous.

_People don't have x-ray vision._

_They're not shooting little beams of radiation at you._

But as it turns out, and with practically everything in life, I was wrong.

_Dead wrong._

He _may as well_ be shooting little beams of radiation at me.

My hands twitch.

Want to cover my face.

I refrain.

_Just_.

"Bella . . . " Trail off. He likes doing those. Not that I'm one to talk.

Right.

Me. _Talk_.

Ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha.

"Please," he _pleads_.

I swallow thickly, and something inside of me tears a little at his tone. It's the raw aching, the sound of his lonely song.

Directed at _me_.

My insides whir and kick up a fuss again, and my hands stop fidgeting to clench into tight fists. There's the taste of bitter in my mouth as I bite my own tongue, and my breath tumbles past my lips, forming a loud sigh – the kind you can't control but wish you could.

But I don't lash out.

I just look up.

Unlike before, my gaze doesn't dart all over the place; my eyes don't really give me much choice this time.

They just look up – straight up – and right into his.

I don't measure the distance between my gaze and his – don't really know how many steps he took into the flat before he decided _that's enough_ and turned around. But even if I did, even if I counted them now, it wouldn't matter.

I look at him and I know.

_He's near me._

Physical distance suddenly seems superficial.

But also, abruptly –

Really, _really_ necessary.

"You can sit," I blurt.

His already wide eyes grow even wider, and I watch as the hand that had been twisting his jacket come to a halt.

"Settee." I carry on tumbling, mumbling, imagining the letters landing in a heap on the floor at my feet. "Over – over _there_." I do a head-jerk-nod thing before lifting an arm and (a bit too violently) prodding at the air, pointing behind him.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and all I can do is hold my breath as I continue to hold his gaze. My heart thinks it's a drum; with each moment that passes the skin at the mercy of its thumping grows tauter and tighter.

_Look away,_ I think. _Look away, look away, look away._

He does.

The air spills out of me silently as he turns, effectively severing all ties that might have been. I press my trembling hands into my back as I watch him move further into the apartment, fighting the urge to push him out of the door as he takes a seat.

On _my_ settee.

In _my_ living room.

I don't move from my place by the door for a minute, too weirded out by the foreign sight – the very _idea_. But then he looks up, at me, before his eyes dart all around and he starts wringing his jacket again and I really wish the apartment was bigger because then I couldn't see how nervous he looked and then I wouldn't be able to empathise with him and –

_Breathe in . . . _

_. . . Aaaaand out again._

I do as prompted and take a couple of deep breaths, glad his gaze isn't on me because I'm sure I look mental. _Just hyperventilating over here because my thought process became too manic and I forgot to breathe._

Right.

I take a step.

Then two.

Then three.

I eye him nervously as I approach, more than a little worried he's going to swing his apparent (I haven't looked long enough to make sure) green back to me. I'm sure it's already been made obvious, but I'm not good with eye contact, so the fact that he's evading mine right now is the only thing keeping me moving forward – toward him.

I wonder if he knows this, too.

Shaking my head at myself, I take the final step, and then I'm in the living room. With him. A stranger. All alone.

With him.

A stranger.

_All alone._

Who I let into my house.

_Willingly_.

I do my best to trample over the sharp shoot of panic that zips up my spine and jolts my heart. And then I just sit my arse down on the chair – _not_ the sofa – because if I don't then I don't think I ever will.

Frozen, I stare at his hair.

Still, he stares at his hands.

Another phrase I thought was baloney whenever I read it in books: _the silence was deafening._

Well, guess what?

Silence really _can be _deafening.

But then he –

He sighs.

I watch as his fingers tighten, white-knuckling black leather before they loosen completely. His jacket lies limp in his lap as his hands rise, all eight fingertips skating through the red before they meet his thumbs pressing into the back of his neck. His hair is long, almost-but-not-quite brushing the neck of his shirt. My blinks fall rapidly as I watch the shorter pieces fall forward again, feathering his brow and lashes with streaks of auburn and burgundy.

I kind of (really want to) touch it.

Inwardly, I gape at myself.

Outwardly, I snap my eyes closed and try to stem the fluttering in my stomach.

_I'd take another meltdown over this feeling any day. _

"Do you want me to go?"

His voice startles me from the _deafening silence _and my eyes shoot open. The fluttering in my stomach forms a tight knot as I come to the miserable realisation that this time, he's looking at me.

My insides are all:

_He's being polite._

_What._

_You want him to stare at the table when he's speaking to you?_

_Yes._

…

…

_Gain another syllable and then we'll talk. _

"Um," I mumble, having trouble concentrating because he's awfully close. I bite the inside of my cheek and lean all the way back in the chair.

He looks at me, waiting, his expression frost sharp. If I weren't this close maybe I wouldn't be able to tell, but his eyes – _yes_, to confirm, _green_ – seem to flicker, maybe waver, like the transparency in his see-through voice is leaking into his wide, water-coloured gaze.

Inevitably, I want to say _yes_, but that is clearly not where this night is going.

But I can't say no, either, so I just end up repeating his words from earlier: "You'll come back." And then I shrug and I'd lean back further if I could to pretend everything is nonchalant, to pretend _I_ am.

My charade, like his eyes, is see-through.

No pretending – he nods.

A little trickle blooms in my chest, but before it can reach my heart I blurt – "Why'd you give me that card?"

Blood filled with quickened beats pools in my mouth as I wait.

His eyes dart between mine, looking, _seeking_. I want to drop my gaze but don't, even though I feel the sting of it. "I . . . I was hoping you'd get in touch."

_Why, why, why_ – "Why?"

He'd already answered this, of course. _I humbled him_, apparently. By . . . what? Not being bowled over by his 'status'? By running away from him? Ignoring his texts? (Par one _accidental_ slip?)

I was _different_ because I _didn't want to know?_

I feel a trill of relief shoot through me at the possibility that this is based on my indifference. Because in reality, we'd barely said five words to each other. What _else_ could it be based on?

He clears his throat; fingers skating, pulling red threads again. "I wanted – still _want_ – the chance to get to know you."

_Um._

_Um?_

My brows fall into a frown. My throat tightens. "That doesn't make any sense."

His black-brown eyebrows fall. "Why doesn't it?"

"Because," I say helplessly, suddenly feeling prone in my chair. I push steel into my spine and straighten up; gripping the arms, I vault myself away from him. His eyes follow my movement across the expanse, and I press my hands into my back again.

"You're . . . you're only here because I'm something _different_ for you." I watch his eyes narrow at my use of his word from earlier. "This is . . . this is just some – and – and I don't want to – " I break off with an annoyed groan, my hand lifting automatically to tug harshly at my hair. My inability to speak is really _irritating_ at times.

Thankfully, he seems to get the gist.

Eyes set, he says, again – "I'm _not_ playing with you." Then his gaze softens, like blades of summer grass turned liquid. "I wouldn't do that."

My hand tug tug tugs and my fingers press press press. "You can find someone else to ignore you."

His lips twitch before his expression freezes – just like that. His smile slowly drops, and his eyes grow a little wider.

_Realisation dawned._

Another, apparently, _not_ pointless phrase.

"You think I'm here because you didn't act like . . . everyone else."

I don't reply, just find my gaze falling to my feet.

_Aren't you?_

_You are._

_You have to be._

Silence, and then –

"It's not like that."

I want to deny it, but refrain. He wanted to say his piece, and he'll probably leave the sooner I let him.

"I _like_ that you didn't act like everyone else . . . but your . . . your _indifference_ – " he says the word slowly, like it's not quite right. " – isn't why I gave you that card. And it's not why I'm here, right now."

I frown down at the carpet.

"This is going to sound really bloody stupid but . . . " He lets out a sigh – heavy, filled with . . . _something_. I sneak a peek at him just in time to see his hair doing that falling thing again. I flutter and abruptly snap my gaze away. "I just . . . I saw you in the crowd and you seemed so . . . " he trails off, and I'm sort of grateful because my heart is _racing_. " . . . It's hard to explain. But it's . . . you had all of these people around you but you were so . . . you were right _there_ and I – I don't remember ever seeing anyone that _clearly_ before."

My frown wobbles and my blood bubbles and I start to burn.

I want to sink to the floor and run to my room all at once.

But I do neither.

Instead, I look up.

I just look up.

**–|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: *peeks at you***

**faffing = spend time in ineffectual activity**

**plaster = band-aid **

**taking the piss = to make a ****joke about someone or make someone look silly**

**settee = sofa**

**What we got from this chapter: Bella _really _likes the hair.**

**Yes, I'm alive! And hopefully, updating frequently for a while! I am officially broken up for Christmas (and officially excited because CHRISTMAS!) so I have about a month of no-Uni. Good news for you, good news for me, good news all round!**

**'Alone' will be updating soon, too, so if you're reading that, no fear!**

**Thanks for reading! See you soon. :) xoxo  
**


	17. Chapter 17: We Are Going To Be Friends

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Seventeen – We Are Going To Be Friends**

**.**

**.**

***~ I feel the question of your loneliness**  
** Confide 'cause I'll be on your side ~*  
**

**.**

One of the reasons I don't like eye contact is because it is, by its very nature, a connection. You can look at the ground, the trees or the sky and you can be aware of them without them ever being aware of you. But then you glance up and it's an –

_I see you. _

Not by everyone, because there's so many people to, well, _look_ _at_, I suppose. I imagine someone like TS had loads of people "seeing" him, whereas someone like me only had a select few. Because even if someone looks at _you_, it doesn't mean you have to look back at them.

I wish I could tell you that his gaze was like one that you accidentally catch crossing the road, or on a too-full train. But it wasn't.

Feeling just . . . _just_. I sink to the floor.

He leans forward like . . . _like what?_ But stays where he is.

"Too much?" he finally asks, softly.

I find myself nodding before I make the conscious decision to do so, and my eyes widen a tad. Okay, so my meltdowns are sort of glaringly obvious, but it still surprises me that he that he guesses so easily – so _rightly_.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his fingers running through his hair once more.

I hug my knees to my chest, feeling myself frown at his repeated words. "Don't be," I reply quietly, feeling a little guilty. I'm sure when he showed up here earlier he wasn't expecting this exhausting mess, i.e. _me_. "I asked."

He smiles, the corners of his lips blurring into his cheeks. "But you weren't expecting my answer."

I shake my head, feeling lightheaded as I suddenly take in the bizarreness of the night. "Not any of this."

We sit in quiet for a minute then, as if soaking up everything, letting it melt into our bloodstreams. I've vacated his stare again and have fixed my gaze on the carpet. I'm a pro at awkward silences, but for some reason this doesn't feel that.

Or maybe it is, and I'm just in too much of a tizz to notice.

"How'd you know where I live?" I speak-think at the same time, because it only just occurred to me. And it is, to be honest, a lot easier than the other questions I've been asking tonight.

I glance up just in time to see his eyes widen a little. "Um, I may have . . . followed Emmett and Jasper here." His words initially start out slow, but by the time he's reached _here_, his vowels and syllables are blurring together.

I blink, once, twice, three times.

"And . . . and how did you know I lived with them – Alice and Rose?" I ask, slowly.

He's tugging on his hair now. And I don't know whether it's just the bad lighting, or if his ears _are_ actually turning a little red.

"Emmett and Jasper," he says again, his look sheepish. "Alice may have told – "

"Bloody _Alice_," I hiss quietly, my eyes narrowing at the wall behind him. Why on _earth_ would she do _that_? She didn't know him from Adam and –

"She said you'd be mad," Edward says, voice cutting through my thoughts. When I dart my eyes back to him, he's smiling, but looking as though he's trying to tamp it down – and failing.

I frown.

He presses his lips together.

"Well, she's right," I finally mutter, casting my glance away. I fight the petulant urge to cross my arms over my chest, but only just.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry."

I blink down at my soft pyjama bottoms, picking at some loose thread I meant to sew back together. "You say that a lot," I observe quietly, pull pull pulling at the thin blue cotton. Because he does. He keeps on saying it, and the more he does the more I realise he doesn't have any real _reason_ to. He did . . . what? Invited me backstage? Carried me to Rose's car when I was sleeping? Gave me his card? Responded to a text message _I_ sent him?

So, alright. He showed up at my home without being invited, but it wasn't like he'd forced his way in here. I'd _let_ him in. And he'd already offered to leave.

So then I just blurt – "You should stop." Closing my eyes, I give my head a quick shake. "Stop – apologising, I mean. I _mean_ . . . if you're really not . . . " I lift my eyes then, because I need to see. "You're really not playing with me?" My voice sounds small, childlike even. And I know that I sound like a broken record, but people don't just flock to me, so I'm inherently suspicious when even one person does. Especially _this_ person.

"_No_," he says, voice full and emphatic. He sits a little straighter and skates his fingers to his temples, pushing away fallen strands – his eyes clear, unobstructed. _Letting me see_. "No, I'm not. I _swear_."

I exhale a bit shakily then, feeling my heart thrum out a drum beat and hearing it echo in my ears. Because if he's being honest with me, and the transparency in his eyes and voice makes me think he is, then Rose is right.

_He makes you nervous!_

Everyone_ makes me nervous._

_Yeah. But in an 'you-make-me-extremely-uncomfortable' way, not in an – _

"I don't know how to deal with you," I blurt.

His eyes widen.

My own widen right back as I realise what I've just said. I immediately slap my hands over my mouth, as if that'll somehow make it _better _(like when people do that waving-hand motion in front of their face when they've eaten something too hot – _why_?) and lament all my life choices that have led to this moment.

"I just want – " he starts, breaks off. His throat tightens as he seemingly struggles for the right words, and I can relate. After a bit, he just sighs and stars tugging on his hair.

I let my hands fall to the carpet. Heart in my mouth, I ask, "Just want, what?" Because I think it's better when he's the one saying things – even if they are impossible.

He fixes me with more than a look, with a gaze that's as long as his determination is (which seems to be pretty long), while a slow smile curls up the corners of his lips. My breathing hitches a bit when he leans forward, and his hands fall to his neck. His hair tumble tumble tumbles and creates dense waves of red-oak to emphasis his shamrock-green.

Then –

"I just want a friend," he says softly, simply.

I try not to but –

I gape.

"I want _you_ to be my friend."

Even more so –

I gape.

After a while, I sputter, "You could have – "

"_Anyone_," he interrupts, narrowing his eyes at me playfully. "I know. You've made that pretty clear. But I don't want anyone. I want _you_."

Uh.

Um.

Uhhh.

I'm not sure I like the weird flutter in my heart his words bring.

Kind of don't want him to say it again.

I'm not _that_ person. People don't seek me out, and they don't say these sort of things to me – ever.

My throat tightens – like his did earlier – and I'm horrified to find a lump forming there. I blink quickly to dispel the sting of anything that might or might not be creeping up – _unexpectedly_ – on me, and start fidgeting like a maniac.

"I'll be a good friend," he says softly.

My nails dig into my fingertips. "I'm not sure I can be," I whisper back.

My heart thumps so quickly in the ensuing silence I'm almost surprised it doesn't just _give up_ – it's been that frantic tonight. I've never had anyone want to be my friend so suddenly since . . . well, since Alice and Rose. And I didn't get it then either, just like I don't get it now.

"I think I'd like to find that out," he says easily, "for myself."

_Thump thump thump_ goes my heart.

_Sorry sorry sorry_ goes my head.

I blink down at the carpet before peeking up at him again. He doesn't look nervous anymore. I wish I could say the same.

He drops his head to catch my eyes, and my gaze freezes on his. Tipping his head to the side, his green roves all over, like he's looking for something – but I have no idea what. Maybe he doesn't, either.

"Let me show you," he finally says, his voice liquid smooth but sinking into my skin.

My cheeks flush. I start picking at that loose bit of thread again. "You . . . you don't even know me."

"Right," he replies softly.

"So how . . . " I steal a breath. "How can you want to be my . . . my _friend_?" Even as I speak, I find myself shaking my head incredulously. When I'd first met Alice and Rose, at my first day of uni, I'd been confused by their enthusiasm to know me, but I'd only questioned it silently rather than outwardly. I'd felt too alone to wonder why they were talking to me, so I'd just accepted their kindness without asking why.

But we were all in the same situation – though we differed in character. We'd all moved away from home for the very first time, so maybe we were all as scared as each other. We were on _equal_ footing.

But with TS . . .

"Why wouldn't I want to be?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "That's not an answer."

"Well, you're question isn't much of a question, either."

I glance up at him and frown.

"I tried to tell you," he explains quickly. "And it . . . it was too much, I know. And you seem to think I only want to be your friend on novelty because you're different. You _are_, and I _like_ that about you – like I said before. But I'm . . . I'm not the kind of person to just throw people away, alright? I wouldn't . . . " he exhales, shaking his head. "I want to be your friend, Bella, because I noticed you, because you're different. Because I like that. Because I can't stop – " he suddenly cuts himself off, and my eyes widen at the abrupt stilling of his unexpectedly impassioned voice.

All throughout his speech, his eyes had been locked on mine. But with the fading of his voice also came the fading of his gaze. I watch him watch my preferred spot (the carpet) while I reel over his words.

"Isn't it enough?" His soft voice drops in. "That I want to be?"

Tongue-tied, I don't respond for a minute.

Then –

"I don't know," I reply, voice small. It was before, with Alice and Rose, but I don't really know how to _begin_ at being his friend, which is usually the hardest part. And usually where I tuck my tail between my legs and run. "Shouldn't I want it too?"

Maybe I wouldn't be able to tell if I weren't watching him so closely, but I see the minute movement of his eyebrows falling, the sudden, slight downward slant of his lips. "Yeah," he sighs, hand going to his hair again, gaze still touching ground. "Yeah."

Guilt wells up inside of me at the defeated sound of his voice, but I'm at a loss as to what to say next. I may be twenty three, but right then – more than ever – I feel as though I have the life experience of a two year old.

_Alice and Rose would know._

_Woman up, Bella._

_You may not act like it, but you are one._

"It's not that – " I start, and his eyes dart up to me, momentarily stealing my breath. I swallow. "It's not that I don't want . . . I just don't know how . . . and I'm not sure I'll be . . . " My sentences come out as the fragmented thoughts that swirl around in my head. The feeling of frustration hits me ten-fold then, and I really do feel like a two year old – wanting something but unable to say what.

"Okay," I just blurt out instead.

_Don't make me say it._

He blinks at me. "Okay?"

_You're going to make me say it, aren't you?_

"Okay. I'll be your . . . " I twist and twine my hands together nervously, finally forcing out, " . . . _friend_."

One of his eyebrows slowly rises, and that easy tone of his is back when he says, "You will?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"_Yes_."

"You _really_ sure?"

"I said _yes_," I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.

In reply, a slow, warm smile tickles the corners of his lips up up up, until it spills over into clover and drenches the whole room in summer sun and green grass.

His happiness is so palpable it makes me smile, too.

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: :)**

**Merry Christmas, you lovely lot! I hope you have a good one and enjoy celebrating the day with your loved ones. :) And here's to a wonderful 2015!**

**See you guys soon. :) Thanks for all your kind support this year. Enjoy tomorrow! xoxoxo  
**


	18. Chapter 18: Doin' It Right

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Eighteen – Doin' It Right  
**

**.**

**.**  
*~ **I know you don't get a chance to take a break this often**  
** I know your life is speeding and it isn't stopping ~*  
**

**.**

According to Alice, there are five stages in the run up to friendship. These are:

**Stage 1 – Meeting**

**Stage 2 – Texting**

**Stage 3 – Chatting**

**Stage 4 – Sharing**

**Stage 5 – Grouping**

I stare at these, each of which she's listed on a little whiteboard she has for _whatever_ reason, accompanied by little diagrams of stick people. The one with the bright red face is me (_ha ha_, I'd said dryly, _I'm going for realism,_ she'd countered back), while the one with the outrageously long air is TS (_realistic_, I'd said, Chandler-sarcastic, _you would know_, she'd responded smugly).

I feel myself zoning out as she taps on the board with a . . . a board stick thingy (where is she _getting_ this stuff?), and I've almost completely blotted her out when there's a sharp _thwack_ on my nose.

"Ow!" I rear back away from her, cupping my nose and jerking till my head hits the sofa. I stare at her frowny form wide-eyed.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asks crossly, folding her arms and glaring.

I wince as I pull my hand away from my face, going cross-eyed as I attempt to look at my nose. "Trying not to."

That deceptively sharp stick strikes again.

"Stop it, crazy!" I quickly dodge to the left, raising my palms in defence which actually turns out to be a _really_ bad idea. "I'm the one who should be mad at you! And _you're_ hitting _me_ with a metal stick!" Somehow, I manage to wrestle the _weapon_ off of her, and in a panic, I just decide to sit on it.

Her eyes grow round, and I feel a momentary bout of sadistic satisfaction.

"_Bella_!" My name comes out as a high-pitched whine.

I just stare at her until she flops onto the sofa next to me. "I told you I was sorry about that," she huffs, turning her head to face me. "It just slipped out."

I squint at her, but her pleading-puppy eyes crack me.

"I forgive you for the security breach," I say seriously, heaving out a large sigh for good measure. "I'm just not sure why all of this – " I gesture to the board, to those _stick figures._ " – is necessary."

She smiles. My eyes narrow. "Friends helps friends get friends," she says, not a _bit_ patronising, throwing in a little hand pat just because.

I can't even bring myself to be offended, because I'm clearly not an expert in this department.

So instead I just lift my bum and hand her her stick of doom back, which she takes very reluctantly. When she's bounced back to the board, I say, with genuine trepidation, "I don't like the sound of the last one."

–**|*|–**

I take a breather when Alice gets a call from her mum, escaping back to my room while my friend suffers from the tinny sounds of disappointment floating down the line. I feel bad for her, really. But it's too late for me to save her now.

Lying back on my bed, I let out a great long sigh, my mind inevitably running back over the past few days.

After Edward had left that night – with awkward goodbyes that didn't know how to be said – I'd collapsed onto the sofa, and sat staring at the wall until Alice and Rose came lumbering in at around 2ish. It was only when they'd rounded the corner and switched on the lights – stepping forward with concerned, blurry faces that I realised I'd been crying.

It wasn't sadness that pushed them past – well, not for the most part, anyway – but the feeling of being overwhelmed and not knowing how to deal with it. When I was younger, I was so easy to set off, but growing up I thought I'd learnt to deal with it in other ways. I was nervous a lot, but it seemed like forever since I'd actually _cried_.

My words had come out gasping and nonsensical to Alice's and Rose inquiries, so for a while I'd just sat there between them, my head on Rose's shoulder, my hand in Alice's, feeling like the child I used to be.

Alice had looked genuinely repentant when I'd told them, Rose had looked peeved, and guilt had quickly replaced my tears as I realised I was probably raining on their parade a little. When I'd started to ask about their night, Rose had shut down my deflection with a roll of her eyes and a –

"They're just men, Bella."

So I'd pretty much told them everything – not that there was a lot to tell, really (though for _me_ it was). By the end of it I'd felt better, like I'd been harbouring this secret, and the relief of telling it was like letting a lead weight off of my chest. We'd also somehow managed to end up watching so many reruns of friends with the extra cake they'd brought home from their fancy restaurants (which ensued in – _"So you actually went to a restaurant?" "Yeah, but a nice one."_) Until we all passed out at about 6ish.

It took me a few days but I eventually worked up the cojones to turn on my mobile. I was immediately assaulted by a host of vibrations, but I just went ahead and barged on through before I lost my nerve.

I had _5 new messages_ from _TS_.

My eyes grew round. With a little intake of air, I opened the first one.

_I'm sorry if I weirded you out._

My eyes caught the date. It was sent the day after his: _you're everywhere._

Swallowing, I'd figured that one was harmless enough and moved onto the others.

_Can I call you? I know this is a little unorthodox… I'm sorry._

_I wish I could explain, but it's so hard to write down. _

_Please talk to me._

And then the last:

_I'm sorry. Again. But I'm here. You can slam the door in my face if you want, but I need to try._

I'd just stared at my phone for a while, heart racing.

It was that word.

That _need_.

"Bella!"

I jump, shaking myself back to reality.

"Coming!" I yell back, rising and _accidentally_ glancing towards my bedside table – at the little device I haven't moved since then.

My hand hovers mid-air. Would it be so bad if I –

_No_. I snatch my hand back quickly, diverting my eyes once more. It's remained mute since he left – no more texts, just the memory of his voice – and mine – agreeing to be friends.

"_Okay. I'll be your . . . friend."_

"_You will?"_

Shaking my head at myself, I quickly leave my room and walk back to Alice. She's standing by the board, tap tap tapping away on her phone with a smile on her face. It makes _me_ smile to see it, and when she looks up she twinkles and sparks – all in the bright sunny blue of her eyes.

"So," she says happily, "what stage where we on?"

I can only grin.

Because if nothing else, my friends are excellent at making the overwhelming disappear.

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: :)**

**Light, easy, breezy chapter. Probably because I started listening to Daft Punk in the midst of writing it. ;) Probably also a nice relief after all the exhausting of the last few chapters, eh? Very sorry it took so long to get here! But more very soon!**

**Thank you for reading. :) **** xo**


	19. Chapter 19: A Vision Dark and Cloaked

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Nineteen – ****A Vision Dark and Cloaked**

**.**

**.**

***~ I think I know what's on your mind**  
** A couple words, a great divide ~***

**.**

The water is full of cold around me, and my clothes stick to my skin. But no matter how much my mind wills, my body won't – _can't_ – move.

Terrified, my widened eyes stare up at the inky blackness – not so much night sky as empty void. My lungs are bursting, filling with air and sound, but they never break the surface.

Of course it's then that I realise I'm not floating on top of the water, but sinking _under_ it.

Panic, hot and thick, floods my blood.

But the ache completely bypasses my lungs and goes straight for my heart. My insides recoil in pain, but to the outside world I remain hidden, soundless, under a starless sky.

Then suddenly I'm not there anymore. I blink, and I'm blinded by white before everything settles, and I'm at home – my childhood home. Looking down, I can see my bare feet, pale legs and ugly knees. My arms are uncovered – my shoulders see-through. I'm wearing a . . . towel?

But that doesn't matter, because abruptly, the world starts to flicker. Colours warp and shapes melt into the ground, leaving things lineless and undefined. Panic sweeps through me as I watch my mum's special vase disappear into the rug, before that goes, too. My hands reach out to grasp the tale-end of knitted blankets and sweet-smelling candles. But it's too late.

The empty below dissolves everything, and I start to run, afraid I'll disappear, too.

"You're going the wrong way."

My mind skids to a stop even if my feet don't, and I watch as Rose and Alice hover just out of reach – ghostly figures that stay the same throughout all the motion.

I shake my head, my gaze darting to the vacuum behind me. My feet push harder. "There's only this way," I say, voice high and shrill with hysteria.

Before I can run any further, the floor suddenly starts to slip out from underneath my feet. A burst of terror fills my heart as I start to free-fall, and a soundless scream escapes me. I'm not underwater anymore, but the air has stolen my breath.

I close my eyes, ready to shatter.

But my landing is _soft_.

Sound returns, and gasping is all I can hear for a long time.

When I pull myself alive again, it takes me a minute to recognise the room. But when I do my skin starts to shiver like I'm cold, but in reality I'm everything opposite.

I'm in the red room.

The dim-darkness swelling all around me makes my cheeks flush with heat. My heart is so, so loud, and each beat seems to sync itself with the heavy thrumming of the walls, the couches, the carpet. Sensation on my hands draws my eyes downwards, and my mouth drops at the sight of guitar strings, winding themselves around my fingers.

A quiet chuckle from the shadows makes my head snap up.

"I bet you'd sound beautiful," the disembodied voice murmurs, as hushed and heated as the lights. "If you let me play you."

Trembles skirt along my skin, but not from the cold. Tangled up hands are ignored as I bring them to my chest, gripping the towel so tight I should feel cuts from the strings, but they grow soft, slipping live rivulets of water down my wrists, sliding against my skin.

I don't ask. I already know _who_.

The shadow persists for a minute before he steps out, sticky white t-shirt and drippy hair falling into frost-sharp, darkly-dimmed eyes. His mouth glimmers in the low; a secret red smile in a secret red room.

_Close._

_Kept._

"I'm not a toy," I whisper-shiver. "I don't want to play this game."

Then behind him, just for a moment, I see my mother; younger and smiling, arms held out to steady –

Tall and crystal-clear. Formidable. His closing steps towards me merge her into the wall, until she's just a photo in a frame.

Around me the world grows dimmer, until there's only this, me and him, under the spotlight – a kind of blue, everything else in shadow. He is silhouetted, shining, as he falls to his knees in front of me.

Low notes on a bass staff drop from his mouth when he says, "I want to make you sing." His hand rises, fingers finding flesh as he unscrolls music-making on my red, flushed, hot. "I'm not playing with you." Mouth close, sweet and heavy, honey dripped into my ear. "I just want you."

My eyes close as I struggle for breath, my heart thundering and aching in a different way. My skin sizzles from his touch, little sparks of flame binding his body to mine. I feel strings on my back now, gliding up and down my spine this time. Shudders tumble through me as all the blood surges to my skin, singing.

Lips parted, feather-soft. Achingly gentle vibrations stir at the lightest touch, and I breathe in the words he gives me in a kiss.

"I need you."

**.**

**.**

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

"No!"

My heart rips itself out of my chest as I resurface into reality. Body moving before anything else can, it catches up to my heart and floods my system with a too-fast tempo. Everything is shaking, everything is spinning – skin and sense fleeing. The darkness in my unopened eyes makes me feel sick, and I _ache_.

I can feel the water pressing me down, pulling me under, see the fading of things I knew so well into nothing – and then falling, falling, and then . . .

I gasp-breathe, shivering but cold like I wasn't then – drenched in sweat.

When I finally manage to pull my eyes open, it doesn't help much – I feel displaced, _unsettled_. It's too dark to see anything, and for a moment more the shivers under my skin increase, worried that the dim-darkness has managed to seep from my mind and into my world.

I clutch at my chest. _No towel._

Noises that couldn't escape _then_ threaten to bubble over_ now_, but they peter out into silence before they can pass my lips.

_It's okay_, I think-tell myself. _It was just a dream._

_A dream_, I repeat, forcing my tense body to lie back again. My eyes won't shut, though, not now that they're open.

I pull the quilt to my neck, then my chin. Finally, I just duck my whole head under it, until all that dark isn't above me.

I fall asleep feeling close, kept.

–**|*|–**

**.**

**.**

***~ I go to sleep**  
** And imagine that you're there  
with me ~***

**.**

* * *

**A/N: well...**

**Sorry about the length! I just felt that I couldn't add anymore to this chapter without changing the mood. For me, when I have a weird/unsettling dream that wakes me in the middle of the night, the feeling I have then is completely different to how I feel about it the next morning. I guess because it's fresh in your mind, the things you feel in your dream leak out into that little pocket of night time quiet. **

**I hope that made sense to someone! Basically, I just wanted to swamp you guys in weird feeling for a chapter. Hope it worked!**

**Thank you for reading. :) I'm cream crackered, so I'm off to bed. Sweet dreams. ;) xo **


	20. Chapter 20: Come As You Are

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Twenty – Come As You Are  
**

**.**

**.  
**

***~ I'm diving off the deep end**  
** You become my best friend**  
** I wanna love you**  
** But I don't know if I can** **~***

**.**

Despite how often my mum tells me not to knock, I still do.

I'm not even really sure why I do it, to be honest, because I still consider it to be _home_ – to a degree, at least. It's sort of inevitable, right? I lived there for so many years, and what's more, I was _happy_ there… so I suppose, in a non-legally-binding but emotional way… it'll always be _mine_.

But still.

I knock.

"It's open!" comes from the other side.

Smiling lightly, I turn the handle and step inside, registering the distinct smell of _cleanliness_ as soon as I do. Maybe to some it'd be considered overpowering, but to me… well. It's just another part of being _home_.

I breathe in, deeply.

Quickly slipping off my shoes, I pad over the chilled wooden kitchen floor and into the living room. I startle-stop in the doorway, taking in the scene before me in a surprised-but-unsurprised manner.

"You get back from Venice, and this is the first thing you do?" I ask.

"Pffft," she replies, awful casual considering she's tiptoe on a chair, arms stretched to the limit and juggling a curtain pole. "This is number six on the list. I've already got two lots of washing done, swept the back garden, hoovered the floors, wiped the windows and done the sofas."

I blink at her acrobatic routine, bewildered. "There's been _no one_ here. How could anything get dirty?"

She tuts, like I'm daft. "Dust accumulates, dear."

I roll my eyes.

"Now come and help me with this curtain pole, would you? I'm the short arse in this family, not you."

I huff, but start making my way over. "I'm taller than you by an inch, an _inch_."

"An inch can make all of the difference, hun."

I make a face at her back, not wanting to know if she was aware of the innuendo she just made.

Stepping up onto the chair on the other side, I grab the pole and steady it while she works the loops off of it. "So how was it?" I prompt, studying her newly tanned skin a tad enviously despite myself. I don't understand how the pasty tone of _me_ came from someone as warm as her.

She sighs, letting the fabric slip to the floor. "Colourful, peaceful, delicious." She casts a pointed glance out of the window – dripping with rain – before turning back to me, eyebrows raised. "_Warm_."

I laugh. "Back to sunny old England, huh?"

She gives a little lamenting sigh. "A month went by too fast."

"Well, look on the _bright_ side," I tease. "You can catch up on all your soaps now." I tap my chin in pretend-thought. "I bet combined across all three, at _least_ five people have died since you left."

"You're _hilarious_," she replies flatly.

I grin, impish. "I know."

–**|*|–**

"So, so, so," she says brightly after we've affixed the curtain pole back into its little nook once more, and she's wandering off to put the curtains in the wash. "Tell me how your concert went."

My eyes widen at her retreating back in surprise. "_How_ did you know about that?"

"Alice rang and told me," she calls back from the kitchen.

I sigh, plonking myself down onto the sofa. "Of course she did."

The sound of the kettle bubbling reaches my ears. "Tea?"

I think about it for less than a second. "Go on then."

When she comes back into the living room, she hands me my tea and then heads over to the fire, turning it up until it's on full. I raise a brow when she sinks next to me on the sofa. "Cold, mum?"

"I've been living in twenty plus degrees for the past four weeks, and I come home to barely above freezing. _Yes_, I'm cold."

I snort into my mug. "I think it's more than a _bit_ above freezing."

She waves me off. "So? Your concert?" she prods.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, and then I glance up. Her eyes are bright green, sunny with warmth and . . . _hope_.

I swallow them back down.

"It was great," I force out, plastering a smile onto my lips. "We had a great time. It was really . . . great." _Stop saying_ _great!_

But she bypasses my repetition, a genuine smile turning the corners of her mouth up. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she says, and her relief is palpable. "And you were alright with the crowd?"

I press my lips together. "Yep."

She lifts a hand from her mug and places it on mine, squeezing gently. "Remember when you were in secondary school? You were scared of your own shadow." She shakes her head. "But look at you now! Graduated from Uni, living way from home, going to concerts, owning your own shop." Her smile grows as she lists, giving my hand another squeeze. "I knew you'd grow out of it."

All I manage in reply is a quiet, strangled, "Yeah."

–**|*|–**

On my way home from mum's – walking because I'm only fifteen minutes away – I wrap my scarf around my neck and mouth and nose and stare down at my feet. It's cold, but it's my insides that are frozen.

_You'll grow out of it – _she'd been telling me that since school. 'It' was always this sort of vague, ill-defined concept that I never really had a definition for, only that 'it' was something that separated me from everyone else.

It never really took up residence in my brain until I was in college though, where I became privy to _young adults_ rather than _school kids. _Suddenly, _I_ was one, except that I didn't feel like it. They'd come in to class and chat about things I had no interest in; drinking, clubs, gigs, and the like. For the whole two years I was there I only ever made an acquaintance or two, because as soon as lessons ended, I was rushing out the door and to the bus stop. I never went anywhere but home, because I never _wanted_ to be anywhere but there.

It was the only place I felt . . . safe. Not like I was being physically threatened by the outside just that I . . . wasn't comfortable being surrounded by so _much_ of it.

And still, mum would say – "You'll grow out of it."

_What?_ I'd wondered then, but never asked. _What was 'it'? _

When I moved out for Uni, mum was equal parts thrilled and sad. Sad, because she would miss me (even though the Uni was only half hour away), but thrilled because I was acting like I was supposed to . . . at least she thought so, anyway. So then I was doing it, I was _growing out of it. _

But not really then. And still not now.

Because _yes_, I _had_ graduated from Uni, I _was_ living away from home, I hadn't gone to concerts plural, but I _had_ been to one, and _yes_, I owned my own shop.

But throughout all of that, I hadn't changed. I was _still_ uncomfortable in situations in which I had no experience of before. People _still_ unsettled me when there were too many around, and I _still_ grew stupidly anxious over things other people wouldn't think twice about.

I hadn't grown out of anything, because I'd realised a while ago that her words were impossible.

I couldn't grow out of _me_.

–**|*|–**

The flat is empty when I walk through the front door. Kicking off my shoes, I drop my keys onto the counter and flop onto the couch with a sigh. I close my eyes for a second, abruptly snapping them open again as my weird dream from last night pulls at me.

Perplexity draws lines on my brow as I think of Alice and Rose's ghostly appearances, their entreaty that I was _going the wrong way._ Well, _literally_, I was going nowhere, so it had to be metaphorical. Or, you know, _just a dream._

Then I think of TS's cameo appearance, and my cheeks flush crimson as his words reverberate through my head like a really annoying, but really catchy song. I really hate that in addition to my waking life, he's pushing himself into my dreams, too.

The worst part is that I'm not even being allowed denial in my resting hours. I can ignore all I want while I'm awake, but my mind forms a connection with my heart when I'm asleep and drags up _everything_.

I've never really felt wanted or needed – I _have_ felt loved, but . . . I don't really know, there's a difference. I suppose I know my mum loves me in the way that I know I love her – I just _do_. She's never had to need or want me around because I've always been here. I don't know what it feels like to be _needed_ or _wanted_, but apparently, at least subconsciously, I _want_ to be _wanted_ – _want_ to be _needed_.

Even if I'm terrified of being both.

Groaning, I throw my hands over my face. _And TS _wants_ to be my friend. He must be insane._

I think about that for a minute.

Dropping my head over the back of the couch, I stare at my upside-down bedroom door through squinted eyes, something tight seizing my stomach. I had _only_ been myself with him – I could never be anyone else, no matter how hard I tried – and despite that, despite _me_, he still wanted . . .

Maybe . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another Alice, another Rose – another _someone_, after all.

So before I can talk myself out of it, which I inevitably will if I hang about, I quickly pull myself up, trip-darting to my bedroom door as I get used to the blood rushing away from my head for a minute.

Despite me not having charged my phone for days, it still has the _tiniest_ bar of battery. Stealing a breath, I zoom through, not even checking for typos before I press send.

_Thank you. _

.

.

***~ I know something is broken**  
** And I'm trying to fix it**  
** Trying to repair it**  
** Any way I can ~*  
**

.

* * *

**A/N:**

**hoovering = vacuuming **

**college = last years of U.S. high school, I think (from the age of 16 to 18) **

**So . . . mixed bag this chapter, huh?**

**Apologies to those who weren't fond of the previous chapter. It may have seemed a bit out of place, but that was the point. Odd dreams ****– like Bella's ****– can happen without much _direct_ preamble. Her's was the overwhelming realisation of everything that had been building up inside of her: her fear and loneliness, her contradictory desire to _be_ wanted and to want _to_ run. She can vent to Alice and Rose, but she doesn't really know how to deal with it by herself.**

**Anyways. Hope you enjoyed this one! It's my birthday tomorrow (the big 20 ****– officially no longer a teen, uh-oh), so reviews are greatly accepted as gifts. ;) xo **

**Thank you for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21: Going Out Of My Mind

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Twenty One – Going Out Of My Mind  
**

**.**

**.**  
***~ Although we're apart**  
** You are a part of my heart**  
** But tonight**  
** You belong to me ~*  
**

**.**

"Five minutes, Mr. Masen."

I lift my eyes for only as long as it takes to shoot the backstage staff a quick smile in the mirror before looking back down again. "Thanks."

The door shuts with a quiet _click, _enveloping me in silence again. I can feel the heavy bass from the opening act thrumming through the floor and sinking into the soles of my shoes, and know logically that their loud sound can't be stopped by a single wooden door. But it's not that. Instead, my eyes are drawn to deeper semantics via apparently harmless electronic text.

Just two syllables, and my world is muted by her words.

–**|*|–**

Sweat drips into my eyes as I strain by vocal chords under the burning lights of the stage. I can barely see beyond the shine; the audience appearing as only vague, blacked-out silhouettes. Unwittingly, my eyes search the expanse of the dark, seeking something, some_one_, I know I won't find.

My fingers don't almost tumble over strings and my voice never falters.

I'm distracted, but not in the way I want to be.

–**|*|–**

"Nice show, guys," Emmett praises from the backseat of our car, while simultaneously watching his phone and swallowing an overly large bit of pizza. He nods his head to me after a minute. "You never played your song, though."

The solo I'd only ever played live a handful of times. The last time had been in Birmingham.

I just shrug in reply, letting my gaze fall to my mobile. I stare intently at her words on the screen, troubled.

Why was she _thanking_ me?

"Problems?"

I lift my head quickly, meeting Jasper's gaze in confusion. "What?"

He gestures towards my phone. "You look like you're trying to figure out how to solve world hunger."

I manage a half-smile. "Not today."

His eyes narrow.

"Bella?" he guesses.

I look back at him, perturbed.

His glance turns sheepish. "Ever since you came back from seeing her, you've been . . . "

"Weird," Emmett pipes up from opposite us, eyes still glued to his screen.

"_How_ did you know about that?" I ask them both in exasperation.

"You weren't exactly being discrete when you were creeping behind us in your car," Emmett replies, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't exactly mind-bending detective work."

"Good thing," I shoot back snidely.

His eyes flick to me then, his eyebrow arching. "You might be a big boy now, Ed, but I can still kick your arse."

I slump back into my seat, tugging on my hair as I try to rein myself in. I hadn't told them I'd gone to see Bella because I just . . . hadn't. She hadn't answered any of my texts, so I had no idea how I'd be received. But it was more than that. I was so used to everything of mine being everyone else's that I just wanted something I could keep to myself for a minute. Not hidden, but just . . . mine.

Not to mention the fact that Emmett would have taken the piss out of me _relentlessly_.

"Sorry," I mutter, giving my phone one last look before abruptly shoving it into my pocket. Leaning forward, I pull my fingers through my hair, my mind racing.

_Okay. I'll be your friend._

_You will? _

"You should be," he utters back. "Rosie gave me a right ear bollocking about it, and I didn't even do anything!"

I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands, feeling a twinge of amusement despite myself. "What happened to _just Rose_?"

I imagine him waving me off. "Just Rose just happens to have a softer side which is distinctly Rosie. If you tickle her just above – "

"Information overload, thanks," I quickly interrupt, grimacing behind my hands.

"I was going to say _ankle,_ Ed, _god._ Get your mind out of the gutter, man."

I just shake my head in reply, finding myself begrudgingly amused.

"Why didn't you tell us you were going?" Jasper asks from beside me.

Sighing, I drop my hands from my face and rake my hands through my hair again. "I was . . . nervous," I admit. "And not ready to share."

"What, so are you guys together now?" Emmett interrupts.

I look at him incredulously. "No," I say emphatically, "we're . . . we're friends." _I think. _

His frown is lit-up with the glow from his mobile. "But you just said – "

"Christ, Emmett!" I snap abruptly, feeling frustration coat my throat, my tongue, my words. "I barely know the girl, for pete's sake! Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

Silence greets my exclamation, and in the quiet, I seethe.

Emmett looks at me then, eyebrows raised. "_I'm_ not," he says calmly. "But ever since you got back from seeing Bambi, you've been jittery as fuck. You've been smoking like a bloody chimney and it's like you're terrified of missing something because you won't put your bleeding phone down."

I laugh, but it's forced; uncomfortable. "Right," I say dryly. I send a pointed look towards his own device. "Because you're so detached from yours."

Undeterred, he utters right back, "Rosie was wishing me well on our show tonight. I was thanking her."

_Thank you._

My stomach balls into a tight knot.

"Has Bambi even been in contact with you? Because from what Rosie tells me, she was in a bit of a state when they found her."

A throb of pain ricochets around in my chest. My head snaps up. "_What_?"

"Alice said she was upset," Jasper utters lowly from beside me, and my gaze swivels to his.

"Upset?" I repeat, my voice cracking a little bit.

He just nods, and it's not enough.

_Because of me?_

_But she'd said . . . _

"Why are you telling me this _now_?" I demand, darting my gaze back and forth between my brothers', trying to shake away the burning licks of pain encroaching on my chest.

Emmett eyes me. "Because we've never seen you like this before, and clearly, it has something to do with that girl. You need to pull your head out of your arse and sort this out, man. Talk to her, don't talk to her, whatever, but make up your _mind_."

"It's not that _simple_. She's – she's different. I can't just _push_ myself onto her."

Emmett raises a brow, nodding towards my phone. "You've been mouthing the same two words over and over again the whole night." He shakes his head. "I'm not so sure it's Bambi who needs the push."

–**|*|–**

For the rest of the ride back to the hotel, I quietly stew over Emmett's words. I hadn't realised they'd noticed how distracted I'd been, thought I was still doing a show of acting normal, but, I guess, even though performing came with what I did, I never was any good at lying.

And apparently, I couldn't be more see-through.

But it had been two weeks; two weeks since I had left her, two weeks without so much as a, _hi_. And then today, out of the blue: _thank you._

For _what_? For being a persistently obtuse git and _upsetting_ her?

After leaving her flat, I'd made the resolute decision that I would be patient. I was heading up north for a couple of months anyway, so it should have been easy to be so. But it wasn't. Everyday I'd watch my phone, waiting, feeling a sinking disappointment each time I was left wanting. Maybe I was acting a little bit more than ridiculous. I barely knew her. She didn't owe me anything.

But I kept on waiting.

And now I don't have to. Emmett, for once, is _right_.

She's made the first move, and I'm stalling because I have no idea how to respond.

–**|*|–**

The car stops and loiters outside the hotel, and I do, too.

"You coming, Ed?" Emmett asks, peering in at my form still slouched in the seat.

Dazed, I glance out of the window and nod slowly. "Uh . . . yeah, I guess." I slide out from the car and stand. My gaze flits up to the bright, garish lights of the hotel and I hesitate.

"Actually," I utter quietly. "I think I'm just going to . . . go, for a bit."

"Go where?"

"Just around," I answer vaguely, then clarify at their speculative looks, "for a walk."

Emmett frowns. "Are you pissed at me?"

I roll my eyes. "No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I don't want you brooding all over Manchester. People will recognise you in a heartbeat and then mum will be pissed at _me_ for getting you snogged to death by a bunch of pre-teens."

I grimace. "Thanks for that."

He sends an over the top salute my way. "Just doing my duty as your big brother, Edwardo."

I sigh, looking to Jasper. "I'll be back in a bit. If I'm not back in an hour, _don't_ send out a search party."

Jasper just smirks. "But as your big brother, Edward, I feel like it might be my _duty_."

I glare at him, and then at a similarly smirking Emmett. "You're both bastards," I mutter, already pulling my hood up as I start off down the pavement.

"Hey Ed!" Emmett calls loudly, very purposefully attracting the attention of people passing by. "Don't you want to take the car?"

I just swear under my breath and speed my pace, ignoring the chuckling from my brothers as I go.

–**|*|–**

The darkness of the night makes it easy to slide through crowds, undetected.

I walk for god knows how long, keeping my head low. I don't stop until the mass around me thins, and I fall into a silent street; collapsing onto a bench in a quiet cul-de-sac.

From the confines of my hood I lift my gaze. Small, red-bricked detached houses, windows yellow with light, stand tall but unimposing in front of me. An unexpected bout of nostalgia fills me as I continue to stare, imagining the warmth of a continuous home-life within. I was twenty seven, and the only stable home I'd ever had was my parents'. It wasn't that I couldn't afford to buy property, I just found myself lacking the time, or incentive to.

I had grown weary of hotels a long time ago, but I couldn't very well escape that. And when touring was over, my brothers and I would inevitably fall back into our childhood home. Our parents never minded because we'd always been close as a family, so the thought of living in a space of my own had never really been a question of _when_.

And I had never felt confined because of it, because I had gained my independence a long time ago, when I began my career. Living alone had just never . . . appealed to me.

The sound of a dog barking jolts me, and I shake away my thoughts, quickly. We still had a few more cities to visit; I wouldn't be going back home for a while.

Dropping my head, I watch as my finger taps over the rectangle in my pocket, the usually negligible weight unexpectedly heavy on my thigh. Nostalgia is swiftly replaced by frustration, both at her message and myself. She was fast becoming the most confusing woman, nay, _person_ I'd ever met. And I'd met quite a few.

My eyes close as I recall the moment she opened the door to me – the _first_ time. I'd known of Emmett and Jasper's plans and had followed them, feeling as sketchy as I was acting, but unable to stop myself. I'd sat in the car for a good twenty minutes, simultaneously trying to talk myself out of it and trying to gain the nerve to just _get out of the car. _Then I'd sent her what would be my final text – knowing she wouldn't respond, as she hadn't to the previous, but not wanting to just . . . show up, either.

I grimace now, remembering my nerves then; like I was ten years younger, a virgin in every sense of the word, working up the courage to ask a girl out.

And then I'd been at her door, and then she had, too, but definitely _not_ like I had been expected.

She was, quite clearly, wearing considerably _less_ than the last time I'd seen her.

I'd said her name, _Bella_, and had babbled out something about her not getting my text. My eyes had been inappropriate, my gaze and body reacting like this was the first time I'd seen a woman in a towel, acting like she was wearing even _less_.

I didn't know what it was – still don't – but it was like the first night, in the room backstage. Her hands, her face – her skin had looked so _soft_, almost luminous. And it wasn't just the slope of her cheek this time, or the delicate tilt of her wrist. It was the gentle curve of her shoulders and the pale blue lines on her chest, her translucency made more apparent by the necessities of her insides seeping through to her outer softness. But I had been looking at her eyes – a deep, rich brown teeming with warmth – when she'd whispered a single _no_, and slammed the door in my face.

Maybe I should have cottoned on to the fact that she clearly wanted me to _go_, but I had waited and, eventually, she had let me in.

She had radiated tension as soon as I stepped in. I didn't need to be a mind reader to tell that she was uncomfortable with me being there – it was in her evading eyes and curled-in posture. But I had persisted, gently, because I wanted to know _why_, because for some reason, I wanted something from her.

It was selfish, yes, and I'd stumbled over my words as I tried to explain. She thought I was _messing_ with her, and nothing could have been further from the truth.

_She_ had been messing with _my_ head since I first saw her, and she didn't even know it.

She _still_ was.

Throwing said head back, I stare up at the dark night sky, seeing few stars but not as my eyes cloud over, picturing her smile – the only one she'd let me have – when I'd teased her about her offer of friendship. The word _friend_ had slipped past her lips so reluctantly, but I'd grabbed it with eager ears, feeling as though I could relax since the first time I'd entered.

My greedy wanting had been satiated for a minute.

And then I had left, because she'd looked more spent than me.

For the past two weeks I'd gone over that meeting time and time again in my mind, analysing every look, every shudder and sigh. Like her skin, she screamed _delicate_. It awoke some strange stirring in my chest, making me have the desire to . . . protect?

I choke on a bitter laugh, my face twisting as I recall my brothers' earlier words. She had been _upset_ after I'd left. I was probably the _last_ person she'd want on her side.

I run my thumb over my jean-covered mobile then, groaning aloud as her: _thank you_ flashes before my eyes. I feel like an absolute _arsehole_.

I can't fathom her.

So I stop stalling and pull out my phone, telling her just that, in one simple – but loaded – word.

_Why?_

The device vibrates in my hand almost immediately, and my eyes widen in surprise, my phone _almost_ clatters to the ground.

My mind skitters and my heart jumps; simultaneously focused and distracted – but in the way they want to be, this time.

It reads –

_For wanting to be my friend. _

Her answer makes my heart clamber up to my throat. Her honesty pulls at me even from so many miles away.

With slightly shaking fingers, I reply –

_You don't have to thank me for that._

And then –

_I should be thanking you. _

I wait, eyes glued to the screen like Emmett's were earlier. A hoard of people could pass by right now and I wouldn't even notice.

Vibrations lick at my fingertips.

_Why?_

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth at her mimicking. My reply is as honest as hers, and I hope that in it, she can read the deeper appreciation I'm trying to convey.

My desire to be her friend had been an easy realisation. I had the feeling that her acceptance of me as one was anything but.

_For wanting to be mine._

**–**|*|–****

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: **

**bollocking = to be reprimanded, lectured, told off, etc.**

**snogged = kissed**

**cottoned on = understood, realised; to begin to understand  
**

**Sorry for the wait! Nice hearing from our boy, though?  
**

**Thanks for reading! See you next time. xo**


	22. Chapter 22: Missing You

**Draw Me In**

–**|*|–**

**Twenty Two – Missing You**

**.**

**.**  
***~ I hear your name in certain circles,  
and it always makes me smile**  
**I spend my time thinkin' about you,  
and it's almost driving me wild ~*  
**

**.**

_**Some weeks later . . . **_

The crush of shoppers makes me breathe a little quicker as I attempt to step my way through them. Under the suspiciously white looking sky, strings of lights – blue, red, green, yellow – spun around lampposts makes for a jarring contrast. Under the cold light of day, and if I weren't being crushed, I'd probably find the little lights endearing, but as it is, I'm having difficulty inhaling at the moment, so.

Any other time of year and I'd find it uncomfortable. At Christmas time, I'm finding it pretty damn unbearable.

We're not even in December yet (a few weeks shy of it, actually), yet all of these people seem to have their panic on. I silently call Alice and Rose very unkind things in my head when I think back to the moment they told me, _you're getting the lights this year._

_But why?_ I'd whined back. _We already have lights. _

_Correction, we _had_ lights_. Rose had given me a no-nonsense look. _Which you sat on and broke last year, if you remember. _

I _did_ remember, I'd just been hoping they'd forgot.

_I'll Amazon it_, I'd countered.

Alice had been particularly horrified at that. _No! You have the get the ones from the little shop up New Street. They have the ones we had before plus they've got this whole other range…_

I'd just looked at her, unamused. _They're lights Alice, _lights_. Christmas lights at that. We don't need a _range_. _

But she was having none of it. With a squint, she'd declared, _I'll write you a list._

So here I am, said list safely tucked away in my jean pocket as I attempt to venture the uphill battle that is: Shopping At Christmas.

–**|*|–**

I find the little store tucked away in a relatively quiet – as much as the term _quiet_ can apply right now – bit of town. I let out a breath as the crowd around me thins, and I take a minute to inhale the cold air before stepping through the door.

A bell jingles above the door to signal my arrival and the man behind the till smiles at me. I pull my scarf down before smiling back and stepping into one of the aisles. My mouth drops as I take in the vast assortment of lights on the shelves, because there is definitely a _range_, and then some.

Fumbling with my zip, I pull it down and yank Alice's list out of my pocket. I let out a huff at the length of it. I hadn't actually properly looked at it before now. How can we need this many lights? We live in a flat, a _flat_, not a bloody _mansion_.

"Can I help with you anything, bab?"

I startle slightly, looking up to see the man that was behind the till now stood in front of me. He's wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a kind smile.

I look at the list and then back to him again. "There's quite a lot," I say, almost apologetically.

"That's what I like to hear," he grins, and then gestures to the list in my grasp. "May I?"

"Sure." I hand it over with no small amount of relief.

My phone chooses that moment to have a little spaz out in my pocket, and I press my lips together to hold in the laugh that accompanies the vibration. I pry the offending little object out with my fingers and swipe the screen. I don't even check to see who it's from, because I already know.

_Seriously considering retiring and opening a little shop instead. Everyone loves a little shop, don't they? _

I smile like stupid at the screen.

_What would you sell?_

Not even a minute later –

_Pillows. _

I laugh, loudly . . . and then remember I'm not alone.

The man crinkle-smiles at me when I look up, and my face burns.

"There's a chair up top by the till if you want to sit." He holds up Alice's list. "I can fetch these for you."

"You don't have to – "

He waves me off. "It's why I'm here, bab. Besides, whoever wrote this list has been very specific. Like finding a needle in a haystack if you're not a light connoisseur."

Of which I am not. So after about ten more thank you's, I find myself plopping down into the aforementioned seat. I feel kind of bad having him do my shopping for me, but he's right. I'd be here all day if he left me to it.

I look back down at my phone. _Not enough pillows at your hotel?_

_Oh, plenty. I just wish I got to enjoy them more._

I stare at my phone, puzzled. And then –

_Northerners are very vocal. _

I grin. _They probably remember the last time you were there._

_Which I appreciate. Just not at 3AM in the morning. _

_Maybe they forgot the time. _

_Unlikely, _his message reads._ Northerners are renowned for never forgetting, Bella. ;)_

I snort, and my hand immediately darts up to my mouth. I look around sneakily, but no one seems to have noticed. I can feel my smile touching every single fingertip, and feel more than a little bit ridiculous at how I'm reacting to a tv reference and an emoticon.

_If only Alice could see me now… what stage was 'texting' at again?_

I let my hand fall, but my smile persists as I reply. _So I've heard._

"Here you are, love."

My head snaps up to see the man stood in front of me, more than several boxes of lights in his arms. With a free fingertip, he waves the list at me. "This was very thorough."

I can only nod slowly, my eyes wide.

As he scans and bags the lights for me, my phone buzzes again.

_What are you doing?_

"That'll be £25.57," he says with a smile. I actually don't think he's stopped smiling the entire time that I've been in here. But it's not off-putting. I just smile back.

_Christmas-lights shopping, _I tap out, handing over the money.

"Thank you." I take the offered bags with an accidental huff. They hadn't _looked_ that heavy.

_That's a thing?_

I grin down at my screen, and when I look back up the man's smile it's still there but with a different tilt. Like he knows something I don't.

_I wish it wasn't_, I reply once I'm out of the shop, still kind of puzzled over the man's glance. _I'd much rather be shopping for pillows instead._

_Don't steal my idea_, he writes back.

And I laugh, loudly, flooding the air around me with warmth.

**–|*|–**

When I get back home, I trudge straight into the living room and deposit the bags onto where Alice is sprawled out on the sofa.

"Hey!" she sputters from beneath her _precious_ lights. "I'm sitting here!"

I flop down beside her. "I had to carry those all around town, lazy. All the way on the bus too, because there were no seats left."

"It's _fifteen minutes_ on the bus," she says, pushing the bags to the side. "I don't think your arms would have fallen off from fifteen minutes of holding – " here she pauses, lifting a bag by the handle and then rolling her eyes at the, apparently, insignificant weight of it – "light to moderately light bags."

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're _such_ – "

"Oh – yay!" Breaking into the bags, she pulls out one of the boxes. "I wasn't sure if he'd have these in stock – I couldn't get them last year – but you found them!"

My eyes narrow further. I'm all but squinting at her now. "You said I was replacing these lights _from_ last year."

She waves me off. "I figured I'd get them all in while you were up there."

I groan, leaning back on the couch.

"Oh, hush," she smiles, nudging my shoulder with hers. "I had stuff to do here that I couldn't do with you here, so – "

"– So you figured you way-lay me as long as possible," I finish for her.

"Um." She shrugs. "Pretty much, yeah."

I release my squint, rolling my eyes instead. "Have you kicked Rose out, too?"

"I have _asked_ Rose to run me an _errand_," she corrects.

My eyebrows hit my hair in disbelief. "And she did?" I loved Rose, but she was nobody's dogsbody.

" . . . With some light persuasion."

"Uh-huh."

" . . . With a lot of persuasion?"

"Right."

"Fine! Blackmail." Throwing her hands up in the air, she counters, "Same difference."

I laugh lightly, letting my head drop onto her shoulder. It makes my neck ache because she's shorter than me, but I'm suddenly too tired to move. I guess Shopping At Christmas just about did me in after all. "What are you watching?" I ask, just now noticing that the tv is on and paused – but on a flurry of motion so I can't tell what it is.

"Telly."

"Duh."

I can't see her face from this angle, but I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Jasper."

My forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Huh?"

Rather than explaining, she simply presses the play button on the remote. And – oh.

_Oh_.

Their stage comes to life before my eyes – all blue and lit up and electric – accompanied by the rush of cheering, screaming, singing of the crowd. The camera pans and zooms on a certain individual, sticky white t-shirt and drippy hair intact, and my eyes widen at the same time my mouth drops.

"Oh," I breathe.

Alice giggles next to me. "I know, right? I can't believe Jasper never told me one of their gigs was being filmed. I think he's embarrassed about it – crazy, right? And it's not like we haven't already seen them live before, I – "

Alice carries on speaking, but her words smooth out into a muffled blur – swallowed by the screen in front of me. It's been weeks since I've seen him – and for only a short period of time, too, in the grand scheme of things – but my body is sparking and my heart is racing like he's stood right in front of me. No. Not even like that. It doesn't feel like it did before – _I_ don't. Something is… _different_? I feel nervous, yes, but there's a curious flutter in my stomach, a tightening in my heart, that's new. It's not familiarity – close, but not quite. It is… fonder.

I almost choke on my own saliva when I realise that _I'm_ realising his absence.

Or in other words: I think I… I think I _miss_ him.

And then I do choke.

"God, Bella!" Alice yanks me up and thumps hard on my back as I hack. "Are you okay?"

I just wave with my hands spasmodically, because it hurts to speak at the minute. "I… _fine_." I manage to wheeze out when my coughing recedes a little. My eyes are blurry with water from my choking fit, but he's still strikingly clear in my vision.

And then, unbidden, his words come back to me in a rush – from what seems like eons ago:

_I don't remember ever seeing anyone that clearly before._

"Seriously – are you alright? Are you ill?" She doesn't wait for my response before she's leaping away from me. "No! Don't be ill! I always get sick when you do, just wait – " She flutters aimlessly in front of me before bounding into the kitchen. "I'll get you some tissues and buttercup syrup, just hold on one sec!"

I open my mouth to tell her _I'm not sick_, that _I'm fine_, but then TS starts singing, and I start choking again.

"I'm coming!" Alice shrills from the kitchen, and I hear the drum of her feet as she rushes around. "Stop dying!"

**–|*|–**

I hole up in my room that night with very little resistance from Alice. She's been treating me like a leper since my coughing fit earlier, which incidentally, I am completely fine with. All week she's been pestering me and Rose about the fireworks show being hosted down the road in the park. I hadn't wanted to go, mostly because it's pretty bloody cold outside now, and, oh yeah – Bonfire Night was _a fortnight ago_.

So I might have leprosy, but at least I'm warm.

All snug and toasty under my duvet, my fingers hover – undecided – above the keyboard. My earphones are shoved in tightly, and I'm listening to soft piano pieces, and the sound of rain – but I'm stuck. Word is open and my document is blank.

The little bar blinks at me slowly – taunting.

When I was in college and uni, I used to write all of the time. Mostly poems that I'd turn into songs I'd hum or mime without instrument, or much rhythm, to be honest. Some I posted on a blog I'd created on a whim my second year of college. I never got any comments, and I didn't have any people following it – or reading any of my stuff, I'd wager. But I wasn't doing it for the praise, I was doing it because it made me feel… good.

And maybe on a more pathetic level, this was all the socialisation I could take most of the time.

But I hadn't written anything in two years. At least, no more than a line or two of my own fragmented thoughts. And I hadn't posted anything on my blog in as long as that, either.

But earlier… I don't know. I had this… thing. The urge – the tingle in my fingertips and the swell of excitement in my stomach. Like_, yes, I have something_. Like, _I have so many words but I can't move my pen fast enough to get them all down._

I had it – that _feeling_. And now... now it's gone again.

I let out a frustrated huff, staring so hard at my screen that a throb starts to form at my temples.

"Come on," I whisper to my fingers. "Come _on_."

But they remain stubborn. Hovering. Not touching down. Not _creating_ anything.

When I was ten, I'd wanted to learn the piano. So my mum had paid for a teacher – a good one, at that – who told me on the first day of lessons that _failure_ was not a word in her vocabulary. Two weeks later, she'd declared me _the most musically challenged child in existence_, and had left. A couple years after that, I'd wanted to learn ballet. It all went smoothly – well, in a shaky-smooth manner, anyway, but pretty much everyone had been shaky-smooth – the first few weeks up until week five, where I'd gotten a little too close to the person next to me and had stumbled and fell in such a way that I managed to break her arm. A year later, I tried my luck at ice-skating, and, well… the less said about that the better.

So I wasn't musical, or rhythmical, or graceful. I couldn't hold a note and I couldn't stand on my tip-toes or glide across the floor without hurting someone else or myself. My feet and ears may have failed me, but _damnit_, my hands, my words (on paper, at least) never did.

Or they hadn't.

Why hadn't I realised how much I'd missed it?

Frowning, I pull my hands away from the keyboard and swipe my finger across the mousepad instead. I pause the music and listen to the silence. The occasional sound of a car passing by, and the gentle hum of my laptop, are the only things that break the quiet.

I close my eyes and try to pull that feeling from my gut again, but it doesn't like being forced. Maybe that's why I'd forgotten: I'd lost it. _That feeling._ I hadn't remembered how exulting it had felt until it panged inside of me earlier – demanding.

_What do you want? _I ask it silently._ I'll give it to you if you just let me – _

My mobile chimes on the bed next to me, signalling a text, and I let out a surprised gasp, my hand flying to my chest. I roll my eyes at myself after a second and then pick it up, a smile alighting on my lips when I see who the message is from.

_You'll never guess what I found._

I grin into my palm as I reply._ What?_

_A bloody pillow shop._

I laugh out loud at that, but my phone vibrates again before I get the chance to respond.

_I can't see any Northerners about… sod it, I'm sleeping here tonight. If I'm not with Jasper and Emmett next week, then I have wandered too far into the Land of Pillows, and am in need of reluctant rescuing. _

_Search party? _I send back.

_Nah_, he replies. _Just you._

Butterflies swirl in my stomach as I clutch the phone, my widened eyes re-reading those two words over and over again. Before I realise what's happening, a burst of heat blossoms in my stomach and travels upwards, warming my heart. My fingertips tremble, and when I touch my lips, I find them smiling and soft.

The ache dissipates from my temples, and then my phone is falling and it's not so quiet anymore.

No longer hovering, my fingers clatter across the keys.

**–|*|–**

**.**

**.**

***~ There's a message in the wire, **  
**and I'm sending you this signal tonight ~***

**.**

* * *

**A/N: :)**

**bab = casual term of endearment (like "love" or "hun") **

**buttercup syrup = just a kind of cough syrup (my mum's been buying this brand since before I was born. So there is no "cough syrup" there is only "buttercup syrup")  
**

**dogsbody = a person who is given menial tasks to do**

**bonfire night = the 5th of November, on which bonfires and fireworks are lit in memory of the Gunpowder Plot, traditionally including the burning of an effigy of Guy Fawkes**

**fortnight = two weeks**

**Hey guys! So sorry this chapter took so long to get here. I really don't have any excuses. I just had a very long, very unproductive summer (in which I did manage to go to Dubrovnik and see the real King's Landing... so maybe not totally unproductive. ;)) **

**Anyways. Hope you're all well and that you liked this chapter. I know this story has been a bit slow-going so far, so I hope you didn't mind the time jump - just to pick up the pace a bit. Edward will be back in Brum... maybe not next chapter, but hopefully the one after that. So, yeah. More soon!**

**Thank you for reading. :) **


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